The Great Detective
by thewordweaves
Summary: AU ;; The self proclaimed 'great detective' Usopp and his feisty assistant Nami who claims to have all the brains inspect the musician Brooke's death. This is, of course, a mysterious case that is up to Great Detective Usopp!
1. Of cases and suspects

It was one of those nights.

The smell of gasoline smellier than a pig's underbelly. The grit of the street tangible, digging underneath your nails, into your eyes. Smoke thick as the steam rushing up from a bowl of steamed vegetables. Darker than the eys of a murderer. Yeah. You know those nights? Of course you do. Everybody in this damn city knows these nights. Hell, the entire city is made up of those nights.

Terrible night for some. But a perfect night for others. Not for me, but another one, a cold blooded one. A perfect night for a murder. A murder_er_.

But it wasn't such a great job for the murdered--the gentleman of the manor, none other than the eccentric musical genius known only as 'Brooke'. Kinda like Plato. Just crazier.

And it's my job to figure out who the murderer was. The great Usopp, known worldwide for his detective skills. And of course, I could never do it without my assistant, the only thing redder than her hair being the fire in her eyes. And yow! Can that dame pack a punch!

Now this, this here, this is a big city. The lights from the streetlamps glitter in the darkness like fireflies roaming the night. Except this isn't the country, this is a city, and where there's city, there's blood. And blood is on somebody's hands. There were only a few people who knew Brooke, or even knew where he lived. Those eccentric types. You know them. Like your crazy old uncle, or Beethoven. Didn't that freak cut off his ear?

Anyways. The main suspects.

There's Monkey D. Luffy, with a head full of nothing but air, but with dough to throw around. He's always there with Brooke, just as crazy as that guy was, and his friends tell me that he can pack one hell of a punch. He's a guy with money, and with dreams, and in this world, the latter won't get you anywhere, but the former? That will get you far. So that's number one.

Number two is none other than the musician's chef. Sanji. Blonde hair over his face, you just gotta wonder what he's hiding underneath there. Surly beyond belief. Chain smoker. Called Brooke 'shithead' on a daily basis. Yeah. You know the type. New Yorkers, y'know? All the same. Anyways. He's got a kick that'll kill you, I've heard, and could slip something into food. I dunno. I'm a detective, not some guy in the forensics department. But lemme tell you, I'm sure the great Usopp could do just as well in there as on the detective scene, but this, the life of adventure, this is the life for me.

The next suspect is Brooke's doctor. The guy ate some funky fruit in his childhood, and this doctor, he provided all of Brooke's medicine for him. Now this guy's real strange. He's got fur and hooves and horns, and damn, if I didn't know any better I'd say he was a moose. But this guy, he doesn't like to talk much, likes to concentrate on his work. Which is all well and good; I do pretty much the same. Us lone wolves tend to. But in a place like this? Anything is suspicious. And if that's not suspicious enough, then the knockout he's got for an assistant sure is. She's curvier than a chain of balls (which happens to be one of my great and terrible weapons), and lemme tell you. That's pretty curvy. She's quiet. Smart looking. Speaks politely, and when she does, you know there's something going on in that mind of hers. Those two, they're hard nuts to crack.

Then there's mob-boss Franky, with all his little brothers and sisters. People talk, people talk about Brooke being involved with all that mob stuff. Scary stuff for normal people (but not the great Usopp, of course), and Franky's a big guy with a curious affinity for cola and guns. Especially guns. The cops are scared of the guy, won't touch his family. They're decent, mostly. But hey, when the three cheapest things on the market are gunpowder, fire and cola, and a guy's got a helluva lot of all three, you gotta be careful.

And last is the most suspicious one of all. Roronoa Zoro, the man who was hired as Brooke's very own bodyguard. Carries around swords in the age of the gun, and specializes in pointy objects. Always glaring, always quiet, the only words coming out of his mouth being scornful. People say that before he kills whatever guy is harassing his employer, he spouts some stuff about spirits. Elements. Real crazy, but good at what he does. Nobody knows much about the guy. They say he's killed a hundred people, say he's done work for the government, but nothing's for sure.

And the last person in this unraveling story of grime and crime and gunpowder is my assistant. You remember me describing her earlier? Hair red, eyes even redder? Yeah. Her. She comes, says to me, "You can't handle your money, you piece-a shit. Lemme have a cut, and I'll handle everything."

So I says to her, "The great Usopp doesn't need your help," but she insists and hell, she's damn good at what she does. Smart girl. No parents, no family, no nothing, it looks like, 'cept for a tattoo. We're kind of the same, then, and we're like family, now.

Except that's not really important, not now, maybe not ever. The important thing is the answer to this question: Who killed Brooke?

So, I'm sitting there at my desk, smokin' my cigarette and thinking about things white the last bits of moonlight flicker through the blinds. Getting dark outside. I flick my lamp on and lean back in my chair, propping my feet up. 'Cause hey, I spend half my life in this place, and it might as well be comfortable. 'Course, this isn't about comfort. This is about thinking.

Which seems to have gone wrong as Nami bursts through the door, her silhouette sharp against the door frame. Girl's got a good sense of drama, but not good enough--instead of staying there and slinking down to my desk, whispering things about the case with eyes half lidded, she storms in and slams the desk. "Wake up, you long-nosed idiot!" She barks at me and I.. wake from my peaceful slumber. A guy's gotta sleep, y'know? And just to make things clear, my nose isn't long. It is noble, with a Greek-like architecture and a Roman swoop and a delicate bump at the ridge that presents just the right air of nobility.

So I wake up and I says to her, "What? What is it Nami?" Now, I know most expect me to say something a bit more profound, but she just woke me up, so I let myself off the hook this time.

"I know what this murder's about," she says, the grin coilin' up her face more suited to the Cheshire cat than a woman, and the brightness in her eyes can't be mistaken. She waits. For me to guess.

"What?"

"Mo-ney." She enunciates both syllables clearly. So that's why she was grinning. Brooke was a rich man.

"Money!" I tell her. "Brilliant!" But obviously, my heart's workin' faster than my head, 'cause after a second, my smile dims and it occurs to me. "U-uh, Nami. Every suspect in this case has to do with money. He pays his chef and bodyguard, and he knows Monkey D. Luffy through wealth, and he pays his doctor, and... and-and-and... well, everybody knows the mob deals with money."

She snorts, and scrapes a chair over - on my good hardwood, too - leans forward, looks me real close in the eye. Her jaw furiously works on a piece of bubble gum, and she blows one right in my face. This girl's got guts. And bubble gum, that's a real fad with girls, these days. Not with men, real men, which is a damn shame. I like bubble gum too. Don't make me less manly, but hey, sweet things are good. You'd never meet a man who doesn't like his Momma's chocolate chip cookies.

Anyways. "Great job, genius," she tells me, "but you don't have the nose for money that I do." ...well, this much is true. I don't concentrate so much on the material, y'know? "Check out this will."

I gape at it. "Every suspect's name is on it." I take it from her, hold it in the direct beam of dusty artificial light streaming from the lamp. "This doesn't help at all."

"On the contrary!" Nami announces, standing up, heels clicking against the hardwood. _My_ good hardwood. "They'd refuse to talk otherwise, but this makes them veritable suspects. You got that, De-tec-tive?" She pops another bubble. It swells and bobs in the air for a second before her tongue recovers it.

"Got it," I say. "So, we start the questioning tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me," she says, an arch of her brow and a twitch of her lips. "You're the boss."

I look down at the list, look back at Nami. "We start at dawn," I says to her. "Well, no. Maybe 10. Dawn is really inconvenient for whoever we're questioning, and we can take him off guard if it's sorta early, but dawn'll just make him--"

"Who are we questioning?" Nami interrupts. Impatient dame.

"Monkey D. Luffy."

Her grin has _money_ written all over it. "Got it. You're pickin' me up, nine sharp, yeah?"

"Wait, n--"

"Thanks, Boss," she says with a wink, and disappears into the night.

Sometimes I wonder why I keep her around.


	2. Of doctors and knockouts

The next morning, I pick Nami up, like I said I would. Or she said I would. But I'm not one to hold grudges over stupid things like that, and that's why I did it. To save time, too.

She hops out of the apartment building, hand on hip, skirt obscenely short. The age of the miniskirt, providing uncomfortable distractions for men across the nation. Heels griding into the nice clean carpet of my car, she leans back and stretches. "'Morning," she says.

"Good morning," I says right back at her, starting the car with a rumble.

"You gotta get a better car," she says, running a finger across the dashboard. "Or at least dust once in a while." When the car gives a pop louder than a chiropractor's adjustment, she winces and wriggles in her seat. "Definitely a new car," she decides.

"I like this one." And I do. She's faithful. Guys like me don't throw out an old friend just because they're a little...broken 'round the brakes. You get what I'm saying?

"Whatever," she snorts, and then faces the road again. "So, Monkey D. Luffy."

"He seems to be in all of our cases, doesn't he?" And he does. Back when Nami just started being my assistant, a messy murder from years back was brought to life, and Luffy was a suspect in that one too. But in the end, the guy helped us get the real suspect, being Arlong, famous for keeping a tank full-a piranhas and watching 'em rip each other to pieces in the same way a guy will rip a steak apart. Anyways. The murder was brought to light, Arlong was beat up, and Nami started smilin' again. With that vicious smile of hers came a temper that can't be beat, but I like her a helluva lot more smiling than crying, so that's good. Nami worked for Arlong for a while. A call girl, some people say. I don't ask about it, and she don't tell.

And the other case Luffy was involved in, whoo boy. Vivi, daughter of a wealthy businessman with hair bluer than the sea had a run in with government agent Crocodile. And was that a good story. Shit, he's been in a lot of cases, but hey, we gotta check our every suspect.

When we screech to a halt in front of the mansion, the squeal of the car like iron bending (which I've never heard, but people've told me that it screeches with an almight wail), Nami leaps out. "I wonder if he'll invite us for breakfast," she says with a tilt of her head and a tap of her finger.

"Didn't you eat this morning?"

She grins. "I was hoping for a free meal."

That dame won't throw down a cent if she don't think she'll be getting it back. But Luffy, hoo boy. Luffy must be the one guy who won't share with Nami. He likes food more than most guys like cars. He likes food more than Nami likes... well, about the same amount that Nami likes money. When we knock on the door, it's flung open with a crash, and Monkey D. Luffy's inhumanly wide smile beckons us inside.

Now, for those who don't know this guy, lemme explain. Mansion owner, yeah? Richer than a chocolate mousse. But he don't wear no tux, no siree. This guy, he runs about town wearing nothing but a tattered vest and shorts. Yeah, he's got other clothes, but I never see him wearing anything fancy. I figure he has, but only when necessary. He always wears this old straw hat on his head, so he looks more like some farmer from hicktown than a rich kid. I dunno how he got so wealthy. Nobody does. But hey, as long as he's helpin' us, I'm not complaining. Although he does spend his money on some strange things. Like a bronze statue of himself. I may call myself the Great Usopp, but I'm not _that_ vain.

Anyways, so he welcomes us inside smiling. And I says to him, I says to him real slow, "Don't you look a bit too happy for somebody who's a suspect of murder?"

His grin doesn't fade. "Hi Usopp!"

Smart kid. Real smart. And of course, Nami steps in, as charming as always with her womanly guiles and... and such. "Any place we should sit, Luffy? Like the kitchen?"

"Okay!" Exclaims Luffy, looking fairly cheerful as he makes his way to the kitchen. Surely enough, there's a feast big enough for twenty on the table, or a feast big enough for Monkey D. Luffy.

"Ooh," says Nami. "Can I have some?"

"Not the meat."

"Not the meat," Nami agrees, and sits down, taking a bite of toast. I take a pancake. 'Cause hey, even if Nami was the one who wanted it in the first place, a guy's gotta eat, y'know what I mean?

"So, Luffy--" I begin, and stop to chew my mouthful of food and wipe a drip of syrup off my chin. You can't blame me. These are rich pancakes we're talking about her, real rich and thick and fluffy and... all those other good things that pancakes are. "Luffy. What do you know about Brooke's death? I hope you know that you're a prime suspect."

"I know," the kid says, chirpily, and crams about thirty slices of bacon into his mouth. "And Brooke's not dead."

"Yes, Luffy. He is." Shit. This is no time for him to be going through denial.

"No," he says. "He's not."

"Yes. He is."

"No. He's--"

"Stop it, you two," Nami interrupts, daintily patting her mouth with a napkin like she's barely eaten at all. But she ate a ton. I saw her, I see everything. She can cram a lot into that tiny frame of hers. Especially if it's free. "So she's not dead."

"But Nami--!"

"Sh, Boss. I know what I'm doing." She winks an eye at me and leans down, real low, real seductively, and I won't lie, she's a pretty dame all right. "So, Luffy. Brooke's not dead, but hurt. You know how he got hurt?"

"No," Luffy says, shaking his head. Then, he looks at us, all wide eyes, open mouth, more innocent lookin' than a newborn babe. Only problem with that is that I've seen him mad enough to punch a guy's face in so hard that he almost never got back up, and seein' as that asshole's in the clinker now, he never really did get back up. "Do I gotta beat someone up?" He asks.

"Naw, Luffy."

I stand, look at Nami. "We done here?" I ask her.

She frowns, and studies Luffy for a second before nodding. "Yeah. We're done for now. Don't think we won't be back though, Luffy."

"Tell me beforehand," the kid says. "So I can get more food."

Jesus. It's like he doesn't even know about the murder. "Yeah. Okay, Luffy," I tell him, and he hounds us until we're out the door.

"Come again soon, you guys," he says, clutching onto that godawful straw hat with a vehemence lacking in mosta the politicians' speeches.

"Okay," I tell him. "We will."

When I look at Nami as we go out the door, she gives me this look, real meaningful-like, and she nods at me. "We'll be back."

"Yeah? You get a whiff of something?"

"Yeah," she says, swingin' her hips as she sidles back into the car. "S'not money, even if there's a lot of money in that mansion."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she says, and taps her nose. "My nose for money's never wrong."

"Kinda like my nose for justice," I reply, but she doesn't reply to that, to my dismay. I mean come on, I don't ask for much but a little respect.

"Let's visit the doctor and his assistant next," she says, finally.

I dunno what she's thinkin', but by the look in her eye, she's thinkin' something big is happening.

--

So we drive down to the doctor's home, and the place we stop by in front of is pretty nice. Doctors. Make good money, y'know? Saving lives. Not like us detectives. We don't _save_ lives; we inspect the ones that are already lost. Kind of a grim notion, but hey, lookin' at this house, you can't blame me. If the doctor's paid for saving lives, then I'm pretty much paid for researching dead ones. My shabby little apartment just does not measure up.

Anyways, so Nami sidles outta the car, and by the way she eyes the house, you _know_ she's figuring out how much it costs. Hell, when I first met her, she could guess the price of my car, apartment and job, all in one. When she brags about her nose for money, it's not just bragging, lemme tell you. So we knock at the door, a ratta tat tat, real quick, real polite, expecting the doctor to swing it open. But no, one Nico Robin opens the door.

Wow. In case you don't get it the first time, _wow_. Now I, the great Usopp, am not one to fall for womanly charms (then why do I have Nami around again?) but this Nico Robin, now she's a looker. Dark dark hair cropped 'round her shoulders and eyes bluer than the mold that's growing on my cheese in the fridge right now. Her nose, almost Egyptian, and nearly as dignified as mine. And then she smiles, real subtle, real guarded-like, and says, "You must be the detective and..." She looks at Nami, and the way she stares, it's like she's readin' you just by the shoelaces you're wearing. Even though I'm not technically wearing shoe laces right now. "...his assistant," she finishes off. She steps back, and beckons us inside. "Please, come in. The doctor is waiting for you."

So we walk in, oohing and ahhhing, and Nami comments on the marble floors and the glass table in the foyer, and I just know that she's gauging how hard it'd be to snatch that jewelery box we can see upstairs on a table. On the couch, massive hands clucthing at... furry knees is the doctor, clearing his throat and muttering to himself in a suspiciously high voice.

But when he speaks, it's clear that it's not so suspicious, but simply his voice. Really. For such a tiny voice to come outta a big guy... it's kinda surprising. Like the great dane named Peanut. Except furrier. So he says, "Welcome, ah, Detective Usopp." He bends his head down and rubs at the back of his neck. "What could I help you, uh... with?" He coughs behind his hand. Definitely suspicious behavior. I look at Nami to see if she's gettin' any of this down, but she's too busy staring at the diamond stubs in the knockout--I mean, Nico Robin's ears.

"Well," I say, looking pointedly at my (blank) notepad and tapping my (devoid of ink) pen on it. "You knew the victim, didn't you?"

He looks around, and furrows his brow. I almost think I have him before he says, "Of course. He was my patient. That's why you're here. Isn't it?"

...Drat. "And... what do you have to say about the condition of his death?" I ask. It's a bluff; we don't have any info on Brooke's death yet, not even an autopsy. Could be illness, could be injury, whatever. Nami, she says that there wasn't even a body, and the police like to hide stuff. Probably right.

"What was the cause of his death?" The doctor asks, innocently enough. Damn, he's good. This is when Nami, the lifesaver she is, speaks, a vicious tilt of her head that suggests mischief.

"Well, did he have any strange illnesses, or anything?"

"That," Robin cuts in, her voice as smooth as the cream I put in my coffee in the morning (three packets, by the way, and two cubes of sugar). "Is confidential. Between doctor and patient, you see." She smiles, places her hand upon the doctor's.

Aha! My eyes light up in wonderment! A secret affair between the doctor and his lovely assistant! "And may I ask why you are here, Miss Nico Robin?" I ask, stroking my chin in a very sophisticated manner. "Isn't only the doctor's presence needed here?" Nami slams her hand against her forehead. Does she know something I don't?

"Well, Detective, we get emergency patients at all hours of the night," she says wanly. "So I take up rooming in the doctor's lovely estate." Then, she leans forward, resting her chin upon her hand. "And the doctor does get awful twitchy during the night sometimes." The doctor goes bright red, and she mutters something about scraping velvet off of antlers.

...I decide I don't _really_ want to know.

"Isn't there anything you can tell us?" I ask, fishing at loose strings now, and appeal to his better nature. "I know you must be a great and honourable doctor, but for the sake of justice..."

"No amount of complimenting will make me happy, you jackass!" The doctor squeals, and Robin laughs aloud, a happy sound that I didn't expect to hear from her solemn eyes. "Well..." He seems to be really deep in thought now. "You know Franky's mob?"

Franky's brotherhood, more like. Brothers and sisters united, and only their illegal activities and love of gunpowder really make 'em a _mob_. From what I've heard, he's a great guy. A respectable guy. Looks after his own, which is hard in this city, y'know? I have trouble enough looking after Nami. She can take care of herself, mostly, but I like to make sure she's... happy. Safe is one thing, and happy's another.

So Nami nods. "We know them very well," she says, even though I've never really met the guy, but a spark of recognition in the curve of her lip, her expression, tells me that she knows the guy. Well, not surprising; everybody in the city knows Franky. He's like everybody's big brother. If you're on his good side, you're set for life. If you're on his bad side, well, it don't matter no more, 'cause then you'll be dead. So I play along. Nod. Watch Nami work her stuff.

"He has a rivalry with another gang," Robin cuts in. "This rivalry has been going on for some time now, and it has been said that a member of the rival gang has injured a member of Franky's. This, naturally, has caused an uproar and much bloodshed." She says this, all straight faced, no sympathy behind those blue eyes. Brrrrrr. A dame with a heart of steel, I guess. Pretty ones usually have those.

And the doctor continues on. "It's led by a guy named Lucci." He clasps his hands together. "There's been some rumours about them and Brooke... but I don't know how much of it is true." He looks up, all unsure and I look right back at him.

Then, I says to him, real confident, real manly, "I'm not afraid of any gang."

His eyes shine. "That's brave of you."

"Also stupid," Robin says, standing up. "Don't get involved, I say."

"What's the worst that'll happen?" Nami asks.

Then, with a charming smile, "You'll die. Would you care for some coffee, or shall I show you the door?"

"The door's fine," I say, before Nami's gotten any more bright ideas.

"Of course," she says, leading us to the door even before she's heard our answer. "Thank you for coming. You are welcome back in our household any time."

"I--I'll take you up on that offer," I tell her, in the doorway already.

She raises a brow. "Let's hope you will."

And with those ominous words, she shuts the door, leaving us with only a neat driveway and the vague smell of gasoline from the bucket of bolts I call my car. The case gets thicker! But I can take it, I know I can. I am the Great Usopp, after all! Even though I'd rather still keep my head, something in the vehement way that Nami drags me to my steering wheel tells me that that's one precious commodity that will soon be slipping out of my grasp.


	3. Of mobs and chefs

Now, after she pushes me into the car, we drive for a good half an hour before Nami asks the golden question--"Where are we going?"

Incredulously, I jerk my head around to look at the dame. "I thought you knew," I say, and I'm about to go on when she punches my arm and barks at me to look at the road. When we're back on track, I say (without taking my eyes off the road), "I thought you knew. You looked like you had a pretty good idea."

She smiles and puts a finger upon her look, feigning an expression of innocence that I'm not fooled by anymore. That dame's got a good head on her, sure, but sometimes she really isn't to be trusted. Especially when it's my neck on the line. "Well... I dunno," she says. "Lucci or Franky?"

"Franky," I say immediately. I've heard bad things about both of them, but most of the bad things about Franky have to do with uncensored nudity, and Lucci's has rumours of broken fingers. Makes me cringe thinking about it. Kinda like long nails against chalboard. Brr!

But of course, when we get there - there being the center of the city where we figure Franky is - neither of us know how to get there. Neither of us know Franky. We're with the cops; why would we know Franky? So, we do what detectives do best: snoop. And this, I can say, without bragging, the Great Usopp is great at. Before nightfall, after we've hit a couple of bars and gone through a few rounds of drinks and left, leaving behind the whirlwind of activity Nami manages to stir up with only a wink, we've got the place.

But by this time, it's dark, yeah? I can see the dust floatin around in the streetlamp's light. It smells like smoke and drugs. I can see shadows flickering in alleys. Now, I, the Great Usopp, am not afraid of anything. But it's Nami I'm worried about, you see. Plus my allergies are working up, this time. Cigarette smoke isn't good for me. Smoking all those cigarettes must have banged my immune system real bad. And have I ever mentioned that, uh, I'm allergic to cigarette smoke? I can only handle my own.

"So," says Nami, looking at me, brow raised and eyes hard, as if she can see through my eyes what torture I'm going through. "Are we going to go see Franky tonight, or tomorrow?"

"We-ell..." It's safer for Nami in the day, right? I mean, I know she's a tough dame, but even the strongest of us--

"Yeah. Let's go now," she decides with a nod and _elbows_ me into the car. Pushy dame. Don't know why I was concerned with her in the first place. She doesn't seem to care about the various reasons that I cannot go to a mob house in the dark, either.

Regardless, we drive over there, with Nami directing me down the darkest streets, sullen figures seen by trashcans, a blonde with a cigarette, shadows flicker quicksilver over graffiti covered walls... I look at her, as if wondering if she wants to go back. Out of consideration, y'know? But she directs me down another, darker side street.

"We're almost there," she tells me.

"Then we're parking here." I stop the car and get out, patting its still-warm hood. "If anything happens, I don't want to get my car hurt." I lean down to the hood. "Be good, Merry."

Nami snorts. "I still don't see why you're so attatched to that bucket of bolts." She takes a packet of bubble gum out of her pocket - since when did miniskirts have pockets? - and pops one into her mouth. So we walk to the Franky house.

I can hear footsteps while we go there, and it takes me a second to realize that they're my own.

_Pop!_

It's strange, the street at night, sort of ominous. But I know I can take it. I am the Great Usopp after all.

_Pop!_

I have gone through dangers that many men have not even dreamed of!

_Pop!_

...and somebody is ruining my inspirational soliloquy. No, that's not the word. Uh. Internal monologue! Yeah, that's the one. Anyways, that's not the point. She's still ruining it. "Nami," I tell her, "stop popping that gum!"

"Got it, Boss," she says, easily, and points to the house in front of us. Franky house. We knock, and wait. And of course, I'm not afraid, because--

..._Pop!_

When I turn to her in intense irritation, we have the luck of the door being opened. Now, let's get this clear. Big, happy mob. Small. You figure that the boss is small? That he's weak? Think again. When I turned to Nami, as I said, in intense irritation and was ready to slap her, or scrape chalkboard in her presence, I soon find myself being lifted into the air by the collar of my shirt.

"Hey Long-Nose," the voice booms behind me. "Are you bugging Little Missy right here?"

"Oh God no. We get along really well. Like siblings." I kick my legs a little, but he doesn't seem concerned. And Nami? Nami seems to be hiding a smile behind her hand.

..._Pop._

I wonder why I keep her around. I really do. "He can't actually hurt me," Nami says to the giant behind me, who I'm twisting around to try and get a closer look at. "You can put him down."

So he puts me down, and this is when I actually see him. Tall. Muscular. Wearing sunglasses at night. And a speedo. Nami, though? She seems totally unconcerned. "We're here to talk about Brooke," she says.

"Bones?" Franky repeats, raising a brow. "All right, Little Missy, if you wanna talk, we'll talk. C'mon in."

While we walk through Franky house, I see all sorts. Tall dames with square noses. Small men with beady eyes. But Franky keeps on walking, not even looking behind him, which reminds me that we're in his territory and that if things go bad, they go badder than expired milk. And that's pretty bad.

So we sit. "What do you want to know?"

"U-uh. We were wondering if you knew anything about Brooke's death."

He raises a brow, splays out his hairy legs. "Yeah? I dunno anything about it."

...Wait. So we came out all this way, to get an _I dunno_? But Nami doesn't seem surprised, nor does she seem discouraged.

"We recently received some information telling us that Brooke was involved in conflict with Lucci's gang. We think that might have something to do with it," she says, seeming to show off her superior skills of the art of conversation. I'm a great man. I don't need conversation. "Can you tell us anything about that?"

"Lucci..." Franky frowns. He doesn't like the guy one bit, I can see. Well we're in the same boat. I don't either. "Yeah," he says. "I know something."

...He's not saying anything more, so I prompt him as he sits there, rubbing his three-pronged chin and tapping his metal looking nose. "What do you know?"

"Not Brooke, mostly. Everybody gets along with Brooke. His chef, Sanji." Franky yawns, looking bored of us. "Flirted with the girl of the mob, Kalifa. They didn't like it, and a bit of a... conflict started up." He laughs, as if this is funny. "The cook's an idiot when it comes to women, but he makes good food. He should still be at Brooke's place. Talk to him there." Then, as we're getting up, he quietly remarks, "Although Brooke _did_ ask to see her panties..."

We're walking out the door when Franky says, "Hey Little Missy, is that all you need, or d'you need a place to stay?"

"Nah, I'm fine, Franky. Thanks a bunch." She grins at him, and we're out the door.

And we walk back to my loyal steed--err, car. "D'you know Franky?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "From when I worked with Arlong. Franky never liked the shark either." She yawns, cupping her hand over her mouth. "Drop me off at home, Usopp?"

"Uh... Yeah, all right."

Our drive home is silent until we reach Nami's apartment. That is...

_Pop!_

...Arghhhhhhhh.

The next morning, I don't get straight to investigating. I mean, technically, I'm supposed to be investigating, but even a detective needs to sleep in, y'know? Even a _Great Detective_. But sleeping in is an impossibility for me. Because last night, at that late time Nami and I managed to get back home, I got a call throwing paperwork on me. The dreaded monster of paperwork, the black printed letters as condemning as steel cuffs, the paper thin and deadly with its paper cuts, and--

and right while I'm in the middle of staring at the paperwork, Nami bursts through the door like she owns the place. "Usopp!" She says, slamming a hand down on my paperwork, as if she's able to conquer the beast with only a glare.

"I was working on that!" I protest, but she ignores me, sits on my desk, crosses mile-long legs and clicks her high heeled shoes together. Like she's in the world of Oz waiting to get back home so she swindle poor old Auntie Em by charging her for every chore.

"Yeah, yeah," she says, holding a sheet up and eyeing it. "You were not. You were doodling pictures of the Great Detective Usopp. Anyways." She grins, tilts her head back so she's lookin' at me upside down, that red red hair of hers dangling in the air. "We got our lead. Mr. Sanji, still down at Brooke's. Let's go check it out, shall we?"

I grumble. "I have work to do." I don't want to get stuck in a place like the Franky House again. "Can't we wait till after lunch?"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah-_ahhh_," she cackles, obviously happy with herself and wags a finger in my face. "That's exactly what we don't want to do. He's a cook. Why pay for a meal when you can get one for free?"

"And how d'you expect to do that?"

She winks. "With my womanly wiles, detective." She purses lips painted redder than the blood that's sure to come flowing outta me after this case is over and down with, flutters long lashes, sidles out the door and stands in the doorway, a brilliant sillhouette.

... a free meal. Oh, why the hell not, I think to myself, and walk down to the car with her. She directs me down to the west side of town--and that means it's all fancy. All expensive. The people's walks look expensive, the people's talks look expensive, hell, the hookers with diamond earrings and long cigarettes and black coats look expensive. Anyways, we get to one of the most expensive places of all, and after introducing ourself to the guard, get let inside.

"Psst," Nami nudges me as we step down marble. "That guard isn't Roronoa Zoro, is it?"

When I look at him, I remember that Zoro's one of our suspects, and I shake my head. I do my research. "He's got green hair." ...Well, enough research to identify him. I mean, how many people have _green hair_? "No."

"I wonder where he is?"

"In hiding?"

Nami sucks on the side of her cheek, tilting her head in thought. "I dunno. We'll figure that out."

Well, eventually we get down to the kitchen, all squeaky-clean tiles and well equipped shelves, and basically everything my kitchen doesn't have. And lacking a couple of things my kitchen _does_ have. There's nothing wrong with canned beans.

So the cook, some blond guy with an eyebrow as curly as my hair saunters my way, lighting a cigarette while he's at it. Which, I think, is terribly unhygenic for a cook. Just a thought. He looks me in the eye, and slouches backwards, blows smoke in my face. "Whaddaya want?" He asks, sounding as if his employer didn't, you know. Kick the can. Bucket. Whatever it is.

"Ah--well, I'm, uh... the Great Detective Usopp! And I am here to investigate your employer's death!"

"Uh huh." He looks unimpressed, at best. Like a flatfaced judge of table tennis. As bored as a kid doin' maths. You know the type. "And why should I answer you?"

"Well--" I begin, but you can guess who interrupts me. Who _always_ interrupts me.

"On official business," Nami says, stepping in front of me, her high heels sliding on the clean tiles in an alarming fashion, thrusting her chest out for all that she's worth. "You understand, don't you, ah... Mr. Sanji, was it?"

Sickening. Disgusting. A blatant display of sexuality. Womanly wiles. All that shit. It's so obvious, it--

...will obviously work? Because right then and there, the chef clasps his hands underneath his chin and _giggles_ in his glee. Giggles. The grown man. This is going to be a piece of cake.

"Of course I'll do anything to help a lady," he says, bobbing his head like some sort of pidgeon. I've known guys like this before. Like cats, solitary and sleek, deadly hunters, attacking with precision until confronted with catnip. And Nami, putting a coy finger underneath his chin, is the catnip. Times like this, I'm lucky to have a conniving dame working with me.

"...because a lovely lady shouldn't sit," I hear him saying, having not paid attention to his pleas of everlasting love. "Come right this way." Folding a napkin over a gallant arm, he looks more waiter than foul mouth cook. When Nami sidles ahead of him, he turns to me, expression darkening. "You coming or not, shithead?"

Nice. Real polite guy, this one. Anyways, as he's directing us to a seat, Nami inhales real deep, and I think I know what she's thinking. "Wow," she says. "Something smells really good, doesn't it, Usopp?" That's right. I almost forgot about the free lunch. "Boy," she continues as Sanji stops to watch her. "I'm starved." She bumps me with her hip. "We should go out for some lunch after this."

Hook, line and sinker, the cook's caught. "Why, Miss Nami, I'd be more than happy to make you a meal fitting of a lady as beautiful as you," he coos. I give Nami the most pitiful look I can manage, and she sighs.

"But I simply couldn't. Especially not when the boss is going hungry."

"If you want me to, I will cook for all of you." He smiles, and holds out a chair for her to sit in, so that we're perched at a small table in the corner of the kitchen. "I apologize for the small table. If you'd like to use the dining room instead..."

"No, no, Mr. Sanji--"

"Just Sanji's fine."

"--Sanji, we couldn't impose on you." One demure tilt of the head, and Sanji's already twirling back to the kitchen. She leans forward, her entire demeanor changing as she tweaks my nose. "Easy. Can _you_ do that, Boss?"

"Devious woman."

She pops her gum, and tucks it in a napkin. "Yeah, yeah... ooh. That looks good."

So we talk to the chef over the best damn food I've ever eaten. I mean, while my mother was still around, her cooking was great, but _wow_, this grub is to humans what catnip is to cats. "So, Brooke. We were wondering what you knew of his death."

He raises a brow. "Brooke? He just hasn't come home yet. He's not dead."

That's the second person who's claimed that, and things are starting to look a little fishy. "You don't know of your own employer's death?" I ask, slamming a hand on the table and spilling a bit of soup in the process. Oops. "Isn't that a little too convenient?"

"What he means to say, Sanji," Nami purrs, interrupting me like the impertinent woman she is, "is that we want to know more about Brooke. Like..." She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. "...how he was connected with Lucci's gang."

"Oh, that." Sanji frowns, and takes another puff of his cigarette, all seriousness besides the occasional goo-goo eyes at Nami. "He played for 'em. Music. But those shitheads got angry when I paid the lady Kalifa proper respects. Then Brooke asked to see her panties, and then a fight started up, and that was the end of that." He tilts his head back and lifts a hand up, like his tryin' to reach out to something up there but can't quite get it. "They had a quarrel with the doctor's assistant - the beautiful Robin - and Brooke wanted to stop that right in the bud, and we did, but..." He leans forward, shrugs. "They're still fightin' now."

"What type of trouble?" Nami asks, between bites.

Sanji's smile is grim. "If it was my trouble, I'd tell you, Miss Nami, but only Robin can tell you that. She's safe with Doctor Chopper now, though."

So that's it. Lucci's mob has to have murdered Brooke. But to investigate this further, it means we'll actually have to talk to them. Maybe we should call the entire thing off. That's probably smart. Brooke's already dead, no point in us stickin' our necks out for a dead guy.

"You know we're going next, don't you?" Nami asks, and I can feel my stomach drop with dread already. Because once this dame sets her mind on something, she never lets go.

"Home?" I suggest.

"Lucci's." It was worth a try, it really was.

Sanji stands and clears the plates. "Miss Nami, that's very dangerous. Would you like me to...escort you?"

"That won't be necessary," Nami says, but by the look in the cook's eye, it looks like he's gonna be following us like a hound trackin' a deer anyways.

"Thank you for the meal, Sanji. It was wonderful," Nami says, the picture of sweetness, and grabs onto my elbow and drags me out the door.

"We can't go in there on a full stomach!"

Nami disagrees, and sometimes, a crossed dame is scarier than the two mobs combined.


	4. Of pink hair and battles

It takes a while to figure out where Lucci's house _is_ exactly, but when it comes to information digging, Nami's the best source to go to, so by the time the the clock strikes 7 'o clock, we know where to go.

"Don't give me any of that full stomach bullshit. Or about how cops should come. Or about how we should leave it alone. Or--"

"I-I get it, Nami," I reply my hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are turning the same colour of my face... that is, white. As it turns out, their base is about as subtle as Nami is generous. That is to say, not at all. It's a mansion. Literally, a mansion, about as big as Brooke's.

Now, I am generally quite fierce and fearless, but something like this has me scared. Just a little bit.

"Your knees are knocking," Nami observes before getting out of the car and pulling me out. I look at her, waiting for her to take the first step - she was the one who wanted to come here without a good night's sleep to think about it! - but she pushes me ahead of her.

"Wasn't this your idea?"

"Yes, but I'm a cute girl. I'll be kidnapped. You're the big strong man, aren't you, Detective Usopp?"

"Nope. You're definitely stronger than me. Manlier, too." ...Well, when things get desperate, one must take desperate measures.

A bruise on the top of my head tells me that yes, she is definitely stronger than I am.

"So, Usopp," she briefs me as we make our leisurely way up the stone path, "they call it Lucci's mob because he's the strongest, but he's not the leader."

"Why isn't the strongest guy the leader?"

"I don't know," Nami says, shrugging. "Anyways, a guy named Spandam is the leader of the place, Lucci's the strongest, and we've gotta worry about the other members."

"So in other words, this is suicide?"

"Nope," Nami says, with a smile and a tap to her nose. "They'll spare me 'cause I'm a pretty woman."

"Right."

"But not you, 'cause—"

"I get it, Nami." She grins at me in response, bravado hidin' what I'm sure is fear underneath. In fact, I'm positive that behind that smile, she's more scared than a cat up a tree. Bad example. Cats up trees usually aren't that scared. I know that 'cause when I tried to save one once, it scratched me instead of thanking me. Rude creatures.

…actually, that does fit Nami real well. But I'm getting' more off topic than a kid with A.D.D. trying to give a lecture on genes. Yeah, yeah, that was in bad taste, but what can I say? I'm a gritty man, after all. I'm getting off topic again.

Long story short, we get to the door, knock on it, and some guy just looks at us as if he's been expecting us all along and tells us to come in. I look to Nami to see if she recognizes him, but she simply smiles blankly. Must be some new guy. We're led into a sitting room, and the chairs are squishy and the fire's warm, but all I can think about is our imminent doom. We're left there until a woman sidles over, and smiles.

Now, you know how I described Robin as being a beautiful woman? Yeah, this dame's a pretty one too, but not nearly as pretty as the doctor's assistant. The only difference is… skin. Yeah. A lot of skin. Nami elbows me, and mutters, "Get your jaw off the floor, Usopp, and work with me."

"My jaw was not on the floor," I mutter back to her, indignant, but she sighs her world-weary sigh that suggests that we're all idiots.

"We were looking for the owner of this residence," Nami says, all professional-like, "to ask about the musician Brooke's death." She smiles sweetly, then, and looks about as innocent as a thief. "We heard that he played here last, so we just wanted to know if you thought he was acting weird."

"Ah, but Miss Nami," the woman says, as coy as my assistant, "the last place Sir Brooke played was a club down fourth street. Maybe you'd be better off checking there."

"Yes, let's check there," I agree with her. What? The woman's got sense!

Nami's smile turns steely. "No, we'd like to investigate here anyways. This is a big place, and surely you nice people know something," she purrs.

Kalifa stands, two long, long legs and heels clicking on marble floors, a shock of long blonde hair, a—"Usopp, pick up your jaw."

"Yes ma'am."

Anyways. All those physical features, yeah. She says to us, "I'll go get somebody to help you, then," and walks away. The tension's so thick, you could cut it with a piece of paper. We dunno if they're gonna try to lead us to someone else… or worse. I look at Nami to tell her that maybe we should be escaping right about now, when her face turns slack jawed and wide eyed. "Oh my _God_," she murmurs, "Usopp, he's got your nose."

When I turn, I see a square face attached to a square nose – which I don't have, thank you very much, Nami! – and he cracks his square knuckles and grins with square teeth, and edgily, says, "You are detective Usopp?" and…

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit, we're going to die here. He's coming right at us when a flash of black and blonde flies in front of us and blocks the square-face off. I think my heart's beatin' a million miles a minute.

"Sanji!" Nami exclaims. "You followed us?"

In response, the cook looks at me, and says, "You gotta learn how to protect a lady, shithead," and then looks at square head. Looks like he's still planning to fight with a cig in his mouth. Now, any other time, I'd tell him that that's stupid, but he is right on the count that we need to get out of here, so I grab onto Nami's arm and run the hell away.

In the distance, we can hear, "Fuck! You…_burned my nose_?" …Maybe there is some virtue to fighting with a cigarette in mouth. Anyways, when we run to the door, we see three, four guards there, and there's no way to get through these powerhouses, so me and Nami, we decide to find a back exit. Through the winding halls, though, another guy reaches out for us with a wolf like grin, and there's no Sanji to save us.

"Nami!" I yell at her, "get outta the way!" And I'm about to fling one of my many projectiles at him when Franky comes runnin' outta nowhere, flanked by his lackeys. He glances at Nami and says, "I'll take care'a this punk, Little Missy. You go do what you have to do."

Well, needless to say, we get outta there as fast as we possibly can. But when I look at Nami to ask her if she has any idea as to where the exit is, she shakes her head, her mouth a grim line. "No, Usopp, we gotta solve this. Something's happening here, and it's connected to Brooke." Which is completely stupid.

"Brooke's dead! Us dying won't do anything to—"

"I'm not sure if he's really dead, Usopp." She frowns, grabs my elbow. "Come on."

The place is like one of those mazes you put mice through and wait for them to get the cheese at the end. Except I'm startin' to think that it'll be a mousetrap waiting for us instead. We keep on running, because hey, what else can we do? I'm a great detective, not a superhuman warrior, even if I did manage to vanquish the evil tribe of Bedlam and… never mind.

But then two very strange looking men stand there and look at us, one with pink hair and one with… very little hair, and when they charge, I'm pretty sure we're doomed. My father, Yasopp, was a master of the gun (or so I heard). I, the Great Usopp… have a slingshot from when I was a kid. I mean, I can shoot a gun pretty well, but I generally don't carry 'em around, 'cause as I've figured out from my last case, if you carry around a loaded gun, it's easy for the enemy to shoot it right back atcha. And that results in pain. Terrible, terrible pain. So I take out my slingshot, and fling one of my devices at them—basically a water balloon. Except with gasoline. More durable, though, and… it's sort of hard to explain. And a bit embarrassing. No Great Warriors I know fight with slingshots.

But it's hard to feel _that_ embarrassed when you throw a match on 'em and the pink haired guy's long hair catches on fire, and the other guy screams in shock. This does not have the desired effect, though, as _two men on fire start to charge at us_. Jesus Christ.

I'm about to think I'm gonna die when a hand jerks us out of the way from behind, and we turn around to see Nico Robin, an astutely distressed look on her face. It's one of the only flickers of emotion I've ever seen from the dame, and it makes me real sad, actually, seeing her so destitute.

"Detective," she acknowledges me, and reaches out for the doctor.

The doctor speaks, in a tiny voice not fitting his massive frame, says, "It's okay, Robin," and touches her hand. Then, he turns to us, and tells us, sternly, "Go find my patient." Then, they launch into battle, and…

And we run again. By this time, I'm starting to feel pretty cowardly, but Nami is pulling at me, and is insisting that we're going to figure this out, we're gonna get to the bottom of this, and it'll only be a matter of time. And she pops her bubble gum. We run past a corridor when Nami screeches to a halt.

"Usopp! Look!" I look at where her finger's pointin', and there's a grand ol' treasure chest.

"This isn't the time for money!" I yell back at her, but she shakes her head vigorously.

"Get it down for me, Usopp!"

Now, it's real high up, see? I'm not a short guy, but I'd have to have a stature like Franky's to be able to reach that. But then again… I level up the place. The walls are a bit crumbly, here, and there's only a thin, thin rod to hold it in support. Only a genius sharpshooter would be able to hit that, though, and I stare at it dubiously before taking out my slingshot. It's worth a try, right?

Sure enough, as I draw the rubber band back, biting my lip in concentration, I fling a projectile at it, and the entire shelf falls. Bingo!

"Yes! Good job, Boss!" Nami says, and runs to the treasure chest, takes a… lock pick out of her bra and starts to work on it?

Do I want to know why Nami has that on her? One glance from those demon-eyes, and I find out that no, I don't want to know. I really don't want to know. Then, she opens the chest, real slow, and her eyes open real wide and she stumbles away. So I, the Great Detective Usopp, have to peer in to see what's so frightening. I can't see too well in the dark – and I guess Nami can; that dame's like a cat – and I lift something out. I hold it up to the light. It's hard, and smooth, and…

…and a skull.

"Holy…" When I look back down into the chest, it becomes apparent that yes, there is an _entire skeleton_ in there.

I don't have much time to panic, though, as a glint of metal flickers and I see what are truly demon eyes. You know how I said Nami had demon eyes? They're nothing compared to these. Broad shouldered, narrow eyed, grim faced and holding a very, very sharp sword is none other than Roronoa Zoro.

"Give that back!" He roars at me, and I do the only thing I can: run. As fast as I can. When I turn my head desperately behind me, he's still charging in my direction, and when I turn my head to the right, Nami's right beside me, panting in exertion.

"What… what's his problem?" She squeals, lookin' all for the world like a guy's just stepped on her tail.

"I don't know!" I reply. "Just keep running!" So we take a left, then a right, then down some stairs, then right again, then right again, then left, and hiding in a corner, we see Zoro charge past, and screech to a halt.

He scratches his head. "Where did they go?" He crosses his arms, frowns. "Damn…"

Is this it? Is Brooke's own bodyguard in cahoots with Lucci's gang? What an interesting turn of events! It would be a lot more interesting, though, I would have thought, if a massive man didn't make himself clear to us at that moment, a passive face and a pigeon on his shoulder.

"Lucci," Nami gasps.

And this is when I scream. I can't help it, y'know? We're not built to take on this sort of punishment. Thankfully (and I can't believe I'm saying this), this gets the attention of none other than the bodyguard who had just been trying to kill us.

Lucci plucks the skull from my hands, is about the crush it, and Zoro charges and jams his elbow into the man's stomach, making him drop the skull, right into my hands.

Zoro turns to us, narrow eyed, and growls in a voice that suggests he's gonna kill us, "Take that and run."

Within the second, we're gone. He didn't need to say it twice. I look at Nami, still holding the skull, ask her for answers. She shrugs, helplessly.

"I don't know what's going on, Us—"

She isn't able to finish her sentence, though, as a roar of pain that comes from the demon's mouth reaches our ears, and Monkey D. Luffy runs up to us.

"Did you see Zoro?" He pants, looking as if he's just run a marathon.

Nami points in Zoro's direction, and Luffy nods. "Okay. I think there's two people fighting him instead of just Lucci now." He points at the skull. "Take care of him." Then, he's gone, his face more grim than I've ever seen it.

Taking a deep breath, I voice what's running through both of our heads. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Those were all of our suspects," Nami says suddenly, and I realize that it's true. Roronoa Zoro, Sanji, Franky, Nico Robin, Dr. Chopper, Monkey D. Luffy...

So who did it? Who killed Brooke? And why the hell am I still carrying this skull?

Then, there it is. A door, with sunlight streaming through. We can leave now, leave and forget that this has ever happened, and label the death of the musician as an incomplete. A mystery. One that will never be solved.

"Nami." I point to the door, and she nods, agreeing with me. For once. Then, as we're walking towards it, a man appears, a mask on his face and manic eyes boring into us.

"Spandam," Nami says, wonderingly. The master of this place.

He grins a demonic grin and cackles with laughter. "You've found him!" The guy crows, and steps towards us.

We've got two choices, and we know it. We can either run out the door, and stay here and face Spandam, figure out what's happening once and for all, like a Great Detective should. But I don't know which I should do. After all, if I abandon this case, it's just an unsolved case, right? Nobody will _die_.

But somethin', somethin' is telling me that I have to stay and fight, even if my knees knocking together are creating a rythm. "Spandam!" I yell, and point at them.

...Okay. Okay, now what? And this, this is the final battle of the Great Captain Usopp, and Spandam hits and hollers and I throw things, and Nami hits him with a stick she's found, and by the end of it, we're not strong enough, not really. We should have realized that from the beginning. Spandam's not as strong as Lucci, maybe, but he's still plenty strong, and standing over Nami and I, and I don't know what to do. My nose is bleeding and I think I broke my ankle. And my wrist. And my heart. My heart is beatin' so hard I'm pretty sure it'll go into overdrive and I'll have a heart attack, and this will be the end of the Great Captain Usopp!

Nami isn't looking too good either.

...We're doomed.


	5. Of final explanations

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah. So Nami and I, we put up a good fight, and Spandam looks pretty tired, but he's standing over us, and in the end, he's stronger, and we think we're done for, yeah? Yeah. But then the craziest thing happens right before our eyes.

A skeletal hand crawls its way up Spandam's back and taps his shoulder. When the guy turns around, the hand waves at him cheerily while another hand on the ground squirms its way around a sword and _throws_ it into Spandam.

And just like that, Spandam's keeled over in pain, and we're finished.

"Yohohoho! My thanks!" The skull yodels.

I drop it. What? You'd drop the thing if it spoke to you too. Trembling, I look to Nami, who shrugs and links her arm in mine. "L-lets go outside and wait for the others, Boss," she says, and we do, staring at the skull as it laughs and yodels and giggles and seems to be going nuts. Insane. Crazy. You know what I mean.

They all arrive together, all the suspects in one. And let me tell you, it's a terrifying sight. The only part of Sanji that looks like it isn't bleeding are his hands, and I'm pretty sure that's just because they were stuffed in his pockets the entire time. And Franky, who jumped into the fray fully clothed, is... no longer so. Nico Robin limps towards us, holding the Doctor's hand, and... Shit, I can't even begin to describe how Luffy and Zoro look. They both look like they're dragging the other along.

And all in one swoop, predictably, they slide to the ground in exhaustion. It's quite a sight. But it can't stop here, I know it can't, so I look at them, and ask, "What the hell is going on here?"

That's when the skull says its first comprehensible words. "You can tell them."

This is when the fantastical story unfolds.

"You see," Dr. Chopper says, weariness obvious in his voice as he begins to patch the worse of Luffy's wounds up. "Brooke was suffering from a degenerative disease that meant that all of his muscles would cease to function, ending with his heart. And... well, we couldn't let that happen. I couldn't, as a doctor." Chopper pauses to pick up a skeletal hand and attaches it to an arm. "So I figured out a risky medical experiment, which would actually remove his muscles but still allow him to move. And to do that... well, somebody had to kill him first."

Sanji steps in, then, after fussing a bit at the injured Robin. "So Chopper came to me, because nobody knows more about food than me." He crosses his arms, lookin' real pleased with himself. "And as Brooke's cook, I needed to make a special diet for him, or else Chopper wouldn't have told me."

"We used my house," Luffy chirps, looking more exhausted than I've ever seen the guy.

"Because it's hard to find," Franky says, crossing his arms. "And I had to help the Doctor over there make all the materials he needed."

I gape incredulously at them all as Chopper attaches arms to a torso, and fits the skull onto a neck.

"The only problem with this, besides the risks," Robin cuts in, smoothly, "was Lucci's gang. We've already had some... bad experiences with them, but the main one was Kureha. Doctor Kureha. She had worked for the mob for a period of time, and instead of crediting to her what seemed like medical miracles, Lucci's gang took full credit. Chopper was her apprentice, and so any miracle that he does - and this is certainly a medical miracle - it is possible to be traced back to Lucci's gang. Now, with Brooke's condition, there would be many suffering patients asking for the same, risque treatment, and instead of telling those patients that they could not do it, Lucci's gang preferred disposing of the evidence entirely." She smiles, real slow, real calm, and gestures towards the skeleton being built. "And the evidence in this case is, of course, Brooke himself."

"But who killed Brooke in the first place?" Nami bursts out.

"Me."

None other than the demon Roronoa Zoro speaks out in affirmation, looking strangely passive for a man who's just confessed to killing another man. When I stare at him in horror, he shrugs, and says, "I was the only one who could do it. And Chopper knew what he was doing.

Slowly, my mind makes sense of it, as a voice cries out. "My thanks to everybody! It is rather unpleasant to be taken apart, although I did not die because of it, because I am a skeleton! Yohohoho!"

The... skeleton tilts a top hat at me. "And many thanks to you... Detective Usopp, was it? And his lovely assistant! May I see your panties?"

"No."

A collective sigh ripples from the group, although there's still one thing to address.

"Hey," Zoro says to me. "Aren't you the guy I tried to kill?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Oh," he says.

...Well, I'm not about to push for an apology. He killed his own employer. Who knows what's going on beneath that green head of his.


	6. Of epilogues and happy endings

It was one of those nights.

The smell of gasoline smellier than a pig's underbelly. The grit of the street tangible, digging underneath your nails, into your eyes. Smoke thick as the steam rushing up from a bowl of steamed vegetables. Darker than the eyes of a murderer. Yeah. You know those nights? Of course you do. Everybody in this damn city knows these nights. Hell, the entire city is made up of those nights.

Terrible night for some. But a perfect night for others. Not for me, but another one, a cold blooded one. A perfect night for a murder. A murder_er_.

But it wasn't such a great job for the murdered--the gentleman of the manor, none other than the eccentric musical genius known only as 'Brooke'. Kinda like Plato. Just crazier.

And it's my job to figure out who the murderer was. The great Usopp, known worldwide for his detective skills. And of course, I could never do it without my assistant, the only thing redder than her hair being the fire in her eyes. And yow! Can that dame pack a punch!

Now this, this here, this is a big city. The lights from the streetlamps glitter in the darkness like fireflies roaming the night. Except this isn't the country, this is a city, and where there's city, there's blood. And blood is on somebody's hands. There were only a few people who knew Brooke, or even knew where he lived. Those eccentric types. You know them. Like your crazy old uncle, or Beethoven. Didn't that freak cut off his ear?

Anyways. The main suspects.

There's Monkey D. Luffy, with a head full of nothing but air, but with dough to throw around. He's always there with Brooke, just as crazy as that guy was, and his friends tell me that he can pack one hell of a punch. He's a guy with money, and with dreams, and in this world, the latter won't get you anywhere, but the former? That will get you far. So that's number one.

Number two is none other than the musician's chef. Sanji. Blonde hair over his face, you just gotta wonder what he's hiding underneath there. Surly beyond belief. Chain smoker. Called Brooke 'shithead' on a daily basis. Yeah. You know the type. New Yorkers, y'know? All the same. Anyways. He's got a kick that'll kill you, I've heard, and could slip something into food. I dunno. I'm a detective, not some guy in the forensics department. But lemme tell you, I'm sure the great Usopp could do just as well in there as on the detective scene, but this, the life of adventure, this is the life for me.

The next suspect is Brooke's doctor. The guy ate some funky fruit in his childhood, and this doctor, he provided all of Brooke's medicine for him. Now this guy's real strange. He's got fur and hooves and horns, and damn, if I didn't know any better I'd say he was a moose. But this guy, he doesn't like to talk much, likes to concentrate on his work. Which is all well and good; I do pretty much the same. Us lone wolves tend to. But in a place like this? Anything is suspicious. And if that's not suspicious enough, then the knockout he's got for an assistant sure is. She's curvier than a chain of balls (which happens to be one of my great and terrible weapons), and lemme tell you. That's pretty curvy. She's quiet. Smart looking. Speaks politely, and when she does, you know there's something going on in that mind of hers. Those two, they're hard nuts to crack.

Then there's mob-boss Franky, with all his little brothers and sisters. People talk, people talk about Brooke being involved with all that mob stuff. Scary stuff for normal people (but not the great Usopp, of course), and Franky's a big guy with a curious affinity for cola and guns. Especially guns. The cops are scared of the guy, won't touch his family. They're decent, mostly. But hey, when the three cheapest things on the market are gunpowder, fire and cola, and a guy's got a helluva lot of all three, you gotta be careful.

And last is the most suspicious one of all. Roronoa Zoro, the man who was hired as Brooke's very own bodyguard. Carries around swords in the age of the gun, and specializes in pointy objects. Always glaring, always quiet, the only words coming out of his mouth being scornful. People say that before he kills whatever guy is harassing his employer, he spouts some stuff about spirits. Elements. Real crazy, but good at what he does. Nobody knows much about the guy. They say he's killed a hundred people, say he's done work for the government, but nothing's for sure.

And the last person in this unraveling story of grime and crime and gunpowder is my assistant. You remember me describing her earlier? Hair red, eyes even redder? Yeah. Her. She comes, says to me, "You can't handle your money, you piece-a shit. Lemme have a cut, and I'll handle everything."

So I says to her, "The great Usopp doesn't need your help," but she insists and hell, she's damn good at what she does. Smart girl. No parents, no family, no nothing, it looks like, 'cept for a tattoo. We're kind of the same, then, and we're like family, now.

Except that's not really important, not now, maybe not ever. The important thing is the answer to this question: Who killed Brooke?

So, I'm sitting there at my desk, smokin' my cigarette and thinking about things white the last bits of moonlight flicker through the blinds. Getting dark outside. I flick my lamp on and lean back in my chair, propping my feet up. 'Cause hey, I spend half my life in this place, and it might as well be comfortable. 'Course, this isn't about comfort. This is about thinking.

Which seems to have gone wrong as Nami bursts through the door, her silhouette sharp against the door frame. Girl's got a good sense of drama, but not good enough--instead of staying there and slinking down to my desk, whispering things about the case with eyes half lidded, she storms in and slams the desk. "Wake up, you long-nosed idiot!" She barks at me and I.. wake from my peaceful slumber. A guy's gotta sleep, y'know? And just to make things clear, my nose isn't long. It is noble, with a Greek-like architecture and a Roman swoop and a delicate bump at the ridge that presents just the right air of nobility.

So I wake up and I says to her, "What? What is it Nami?" Now, I know most expect me to say something a bit more profound, but she just woke me up, so I let myself off the hook this time.

"I know what this murder's about," she says, the grin coilin' up her face more suited to the Cheshire cat than a woman, and the brightness in her eyes can't be mistaken. She waits. For me to guess.

"What?"

"Mo-ney." She enunciates both syllables clearly. So that's why she was grinning. Brooke was a rich man.

"Money!" I tell her. "Brilliant!" But obviously, my heart's workin' faster than my head, 'cause after a second, my smile dims and it occurs to me. "U-uh, Nami. Every suspect in this case has to do with money. He pays his chef and bodyguard, and he knows Monkey D. Luffy through wealth, and he pays his doctor, and... and-and-and... well, everybody knows the mob deals with money."

She snorts, and scrapes a chair over - on my good hardwood, too - leans forward, looks me real close in the eye. Her jaw furiously works on a piece of bubble gum, and she blows one right in my face. This girl's got guts. And bubble gum, that's a real fad with girls, these days. Not with men, real men, which is a damn shame. I like bubble gum too. Don't make me less manly, but hey, sweet things are good. You'd never meet a man who doesn't like his Momma's chocolate chip cookies.

Anyways. "Great job, genius," she tells me, "but you don't have the nose for money that I do." ...well, this much is true. I don't concentrate so much on the material, y'know? "Check out this will."

I gape at it. "Every suspect's name is on it." I take it from her, hold it in the direct beam of dusty artificial light streaming from the lamp. "This doesn't help at all."

"On the contrary!" Nami announces, standing up, heels clicking against the hardwood. i_My/i_ good hardwood. "They'd refuse to talk otherwise, but this makes them veritable suspects. You got that, De-tec-tive?" She pops another bubble. It swells and bobs in the air for a second before her tongue recovers it.

"Got it," I say. "So, we start the questioning tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me," she says, an arch of her brow and a twitch of her lips. "You're the boss."

I look down at the list, look back at Nami. "We start at dawn," I says to her. "Well, no. Maybe 10. Dawn is really inconvenient for whoever we're questioning, and we can take him off guard if it's sorta early, but dawn'll just make him--"

"Who are we questioning?" Nami interrupts. Impatient dame.

"Monkey D. Luffy."

Her grin has i_money/i_ written all over it. "Got it. You're pickin' me up, nine sharp, yeah?"

"Wait, n--"

"Thanks, Boss," she says with a wink, and disappears into the night.

Sometimes I wonder why I keep her around.

The next morning, I pick Nami up, like I said I would. Or she said I would. But I'm not one to hold grudges over stupid things like that, and that's why I did it. To save time, too.

She hops out of the apartment building, hand on hip, skirt obscenely short. The age of the miniskirt, providing uncomfortable distractions for men across the nation. Heels griding into the nice clean carpet of my car, she leans back and stretches. "'Morning," she says.

"Good morning," I says right back at her, starting the car with a rumble.

"You gotta get a better car," she says, running a finger across the dashboard. "Or at least dust once in a while." When the car gives a pop louder than a chiropractor's adjustment, she winces and wriggles in her seat. "Definitely a new car," she decides.

"I like this one." And I do. She's faithful. Guys like me don't throw out an old friend just because they're a little...broken 'round the brakes. You get what I'm saying?

"Whatever," she snorts, and then faces the road again. "So, Monkey D. Luffy."

"He seems to be in all of our cases, doesn't he?" And he does. Back when Nami just started being my assistant, a messy murder from years back was brought to life, and Luffy was a suspect in that one too. But in the end, the guy helped us get the real suspect, being Arlong, famous for keeping a tank full-a piranhas and watching 'em rip each other to pieces in the same way a guy will rip a steak apart. Anyways. The murder was brought to light, Arlong was beat up, and Nami started smilin' again. With that vicious smile of hers came a temper that can't be beat, but I like her a helluva lot more smiling than crying, so that's good. Nami worked for Arlong for a while. A call girl, some people say. I don't ask about it, and she don't tell.

And the other case Luffy was involved in, whoo boy. Vivi, daughter of a wealthy businessman with hair bluer than the sea had a run in with government agent Crocodile. And was that a good story. Shit, he's been in a lot of cases, but hey, we gotta check our every suspect.

When we screech to a halt in front of the mansion, the squeal of the car like iron bending (which I've never heard, but people've told me that it screeches with an almight wail), Nami leaps out. "I wonder if he'll invite us for breakfast," she says with a tilt of her head and a tap of her finger.

"Didn't you eat this morning?"

She grins. "I was hoping for a free meal."

That dame won't throw down a cent if she don't think she'll be getting it back. But Luffy, hoo boy. Luffy must be the one guy who won't share with Nami. He likes food more than most guys like cars. He likes food more than Nami likes... well, about the same amount that Nami likes money. When we knock on the door, it's flung open with a crash, and Monkey D. Luffy's inhumanly wide smile beckons us inside.

Now, for those who don't know this guy, lemme explain. Mansion owner, yeah? Richer than a chocolate mousse. But he don't wear no tux, no siree. This guy, he runs about town wearing nothing but a tattered vest and shorts. Yeah, he's got other clothes, but I never see him wearing anything fancy. I figure he has, but only when necessary. He always wears this old straw hat on his head, so he looks more like some farmer from hicktown than a rich kid. I dunno how he got so wealthy. Nobody does. But hey, as long as he's helpin' us, I'm not complaining. Although he does spend his money on some strange things. Like a bronze statue of himself. I may call myself the Great Usopp, but I'm not i_that/i_ vain.

Anyways, so he welcomes us inside smiling. And I says to him, I says to him real slow, "Don't you look a bit too happy for somebody who's a suspect of murder?"

His grin doesn't fade. "Hi Usopp!"

Smart kid. Real smart. And of course, Nami steps in, as charming as always with her womanly guiles and... and such. "Any place we should sit, Luffy? Like the kitchen?"

"Okay!" Exclaims Luffy, looking fairly cheerful as he makes his way to the kitchen. Surely enough, there's a feast big enough for twenty on the table, or a feast big enough for Monkey D. Luffy.

"Ooh," says Nami. "Can I have some?"

"Not the meat."

"Not the meat," Nami agrees, and sits down, taking a bite of toast. I take a pancake. 'Cause hey, even if Nami was the one who wanted it in the first place, a guy's gotta eat, y'know what I mean?

"So, Luffy--" I begin, and stop to chew my mouthful of food and wipe a drip of syrup off my chin. You can't blame me. These are rich pancakes we're talking about her, real rich and thick and fluffy and... all those other good things that pancakes are. "Luffy. What do you know about Brooke's death? I hope you know that you're a prime suspect."

"I know," the kid says, chirpily, and crams about thirty slices of bacon into his mouth. "And Brooke's not dead."

"Yes, Luffy. He is." Shit. This is no time for him to be going through denial.

"No," he says. "He's not."

"Yes. He is."

"No. He's--"

"Stop it, you two," Nami interrupts, daintily patting her mouth with a napkin like she's barely eaten at all. But she ate a ton. I saw her, I see everything. She can cram a lot into that tiny frame of hers. Especially if it's free. "So she's not dead."

"But Nami--!"

"Sh, Boss. I know what I'm doing." She winks an eye at me and leans down, real low, real seductively, and I won't lie, she's a pretty dame all right. "So, Luffy. Brooke's not dead, but hurt. You know how he got hurt?"

"No," Luffy says, shaking his head. Then, he looks at us, all wide eyes, open mouth, more innocent lookin' than a newborn babe. Only problem with that is that I've seen him mad enough to punch a guy's face in so hard that he almost never got back up, and seein' as that asshole's in the clinker now, he never really did get back up. "Do I gotta beat someone up?" He asks.

"Naw, Luffy."

I stand, look at Nami. "We done here?" I ask her.

She frowns, and studies Luffy for a second before nodding. "Yeah. We're done for now. Don't think we won't be back though, Luffy."

"Tell me beforehand," the kid says. "So I can get more food."

Jesus. It's like he doesn't even know about the murder. "Yeah. Okay, Luffy," I tell him, and he hounds us until we're out the door.

"Come again soon, you guys," he says, clutching onto that godawful straw hat with a vehemence lacking in mosta the politicians' speeches.

"Okay," I tell him. "We will."

When I look at Nami as we go out the door, she gives me this look, real meaningful-like, and she nods at me. "We'll be back."

"Yeah? You get a whiff of something?"

"Yeah," she says, swingin' her hips as she sidles back into the car. "S'not money, even if there's a lot of money in that mansion."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she says, and taps her nose. "My nose for money's never wrong."

"Kinda like my nose for justice," I reply, but she doesn't reply to that, to my dismay. I mean come on, I don't ask for much but a little respect.

"Let's visit the doctor and his assistant next," she says, finally.

I dunno what she's thinkin', but by the look in her eye, she's thinkin' something big is happening.

So we drive down to the doctor's home, and the place we stop by in front of is pretty nice. Doctors. Make good money, y'know? Saving lives. Not like us detectives. We don't _save_ lives; we inspect the ones that are already lost. Kind of a grim notion, but hey, lookin' at this house, you can't blame me. If the doctor's paid for saving lives, then I'm pretty much paid for researching dead ones. My shabby little apartment just does not measure up.

Anyways, so Nami sidles outta the car, and by the way she eyes the house, you _know_ she's figuring out how much it costs. Hell, when I first met her, she could guess the price of my car, apartment and job, all in one. When she brags about her nose for money, it's not just bragging, lemme tell you. So we knock at the door, a ratta tat tat, real quick, real polite, expecting the doctor to swing it open. But no, one Nico Robin opens the door.

Wow. In case you don't get it the first time, _wow_. Now I, the great Usopp, am not one to fall for womanly charms (then why do I have Nami around again?) but this Nico Robin, now she's a looker. Dark dark hair cropped 'round her shoulders and eyes bluer than the mold that's growing on my cheese in the fridge right now. Her nose, almost Egyptian, and nearly as dignified as mine. And then she smiles, real subtle, real guarded-like, and says, "You must be the detective and..." She looks at Nami, and the way she stares, it's like she's readin' you just by the shoelaces you're wearing. Even though I'm not technically wearing shoe laces right now. "...his assistant," she finishes off. She steps back, and beckons us inside. "Please, come in. The doctor is waiting for you."

So we walk in, oohing and ahhhing, and Nami comments on the marble floors and the glass table in the foyer, and I just know that she's gauging how hard it'd be to snatch that jewelery box we can see upstairs on a table. On the couch, massive hands clucthing at... furry knees is the doctor, clearing his throat and muttering to himself in a suspiciously high voice.

But when he speaks, it's clear that it's not so suspicious, but simply his voice. Really. For such a tiny voice to come outta a big guy... it's kinda surprising. Like the great dane named Peanut. Except furrier. So he says, "Welcome, ah, Detective Usopp." He bends his head down and rubs at the back of his neck. "What could I help you, uh... with?" He coughs behind his hand. Definitely suspicious behavior. I look at Nami to see if she's gettin' any of this down, but she's too busy staring at the diamond stubs in the knockout--I mean, Nico Robin's ears.

"Well," I say, looking pointedly at my (blank) notepad and tapping my (devoid of ink) pen on it. "You knew the victim, didn't you?"

He looks around, and furrows his brow. I almost think I have him before he says, "Of course. He was my patient. That's why you're here. Isn't it?"

...Drat. "And... what do you have to say about the condition of his death?" I ask. It's a bluff; we don't have any info on Brooke's death yet, not even an autopsy. Could be illness, could be injury, whatever. Nami, she says that there wasn't even a body, and the police like to hide stuff. Probably right.

"What was the cause of his death?" The doctor asks, innocently enough. Damn, he's good. This is when Nami, the lifesaver she is, speaks, a vicious tilt of her head that suggests mischief.

"Well, did he have any strange illnesses, or anything?"

"That," Robin cuts in, her voice as smooth as the cream I put in my coffee in the morning (three packets, by the way, and two cubes of sugar). "Is confidential. Between doctor and patient, you see." She smiles, places her hand upon the doctor's.

Aha! My eyes light up in wonderment! A secret affair between the doctor and his lovely assistant! "And may I ask why you are here, Miss Nico Robin?" I ask, stroking my chin in a very sophisticated manner. "Isn't only the doctor's presence needed here?" Nami slams her hand against her forehead. Does she know something I don't?

"Well, Detective, we get emergency patients at all hours of the night," she says wanly. "So I take up rooming in the doctor's lovely estate." Then, she leans forward, resting her chin upon her hand. "And the doctor does get awful twitchy during the night sometimes." The doctor goes bright red, and she mutters something about scraping velvet off of antlers.

...I decide I don't i_really/i_ want to know.

"Isn't there anything you can tell us?" I ask, fishing at loose strings now, and appeal to his better nature. "I know you must be a great and honourable doctor, but for the sake of justice..."

"No amount of complimenting will make me happy, you jackass!" The doctor squeals, and Robin laughs aloud, a happy sound that I didn't expect to hear from her solemn eyes. "Well..." He seems to be really deep in thought now. "You know Franky's mob?"

Franky's brotherhood, more like. Brothers and sisters united, and only their illegal activities and love of gunpowder really make 'em a i_mob/i_. From what I've heard, he's a great guy. A respectable guy. Looks after his own, which is hard in this city, y'know? I have trouble enough looking after Nami. She can take care of herself, mostly, but I like to make sure she's... happy. Safe is one thing, and happy's another.

So Nami nods. "We know them very well," she says, even though I've never really met the guy, but a spark of recognition in the curve of her lip, her expression, tells me that she knows the guy. Well, not surprising; everybody in the city knows Franky. He's like everybody's big brother. If you're on his good side, you're set for life. If you're on his bad side, well, it don't matter no more, 'cause then you'll be dead. So I play along. Nod. Watch Nami work her stuff.

"He has a rivalry with another gang," Robin cuts in. "This rivalry has been going on for some time now, and it has been said that a member of the rival gang has injured a member of Franky's. This, naturally, has caused an uproar and much bloodshed." She says this, all straight faced, no sympathy behind those blue eyes. Brrrrrr. A dame with a heart of steel, I guess. Pretty ones usually have those.

And the doctor continues on. "It's led by a guy named Lucci." He clasps his hands together. "There's been some rumours about them and Brooke... but I don't know how much of it is true." He looks up, all unsure and I look right back at him.

Then, I says to him, real confident, real manly, "I'm not afraid of any gang."

His eyes shine. "That's brave of you."

"Also stupid," Robin says, standing up. "Don't get involved, I say."

"What's the worst that'll happen?" Nami asks.

Then, with a charming smile, "You'll die. Would you care for some coffee, or shall I show you the door?"

"The door's fine," I say, before Nami's gotten any more bright ideas.

"Of course," she says, leading us to the door even before she's heard our answer. "Thank you for coming. You are welcome back in our household any time."

"I--I'll take you up on that offer," I tell her, in the doorway already.

She raises a brow. "Let's hope you will."

And with those ominous words, she shuts the door, leaving us with only a neat driveway and the vague smell of gasoline from the bucket of bolts I call my car. The case gets thicker! But I can take it, I know I can. I am the Great Usopp, after all! Even though I'd rather still keep my head, something in the vehement way that Nami drags me to my steering wheel tells me that that's one precious commodity that will soon be slipping out of my grasp.

Now, after she pushes me into the car, we drive for a good half an hour before Nami asks the golden question--"Where are we going?"

Incredulously, I jerk my head around to look at the dame. "I thought you knew," I say, and I'm about to go on when she punches my arm and barks at me to look at the road. When we're back on track, I say (without taking my eyes off the road), "I thought you knew. You looked like you had a pretty good idea."

She smiles and puts a finger upon her look, feigning an expression of innocence that I'm not fooled by anymore. That dame's got a good head on her, sure, but sometimes she really isn't to be trusted. Especially when it's my neck on the line. "Well... I dunno," she says. "Lucci or Franky?"

"Franky," I say immediately. I've heard bad things about both of them, but most of the bad things about Franky have to do with uncensored nudity, and Lucci's has rumours of broken fingers. Makes me cringe thinking about it. Kinda like long nails against chalboard. Brr!

But of course, when we get there - there being the center of the city where we figure Franky is - neither of us know how to get there. Neither of us know Franky. We're with the cops; why would we know Franky? So, we do what detectives do best: snoop. And this, I can say, without bragging, the Great Usopp is great at. Before nightfall, after we've hit a couple of bars and gone through a few rounds of drinks and left, leaving behind the whirlwind of activity Nami manages to stir up with only a wink, we've got the place.

But by this time, it's dark, yeah? I can see the dust floatin around in the streetlamp's light. It smells like smoke and drugs. I can see shadows flickering in alleys. Now, I, the Great Usopp, am not afraid of anything. But it's Nami I'm worried about, you see. Plus my allergies are working up, this time. Cigarette smoke isn't good for me. Smoking all those cigarettes must have banged my immune system real bad. And have I ever mentioned that, uh, I'm allergic to cigarette smoke? I can only handle my own.

"So," says Nami, looking at me, brow raised and eyes hard, as if she can see through my eyes what torture I'm going through. "Are we going to go see Franky tonight, or tomorrow?"

"We-ell..." It's safer for Nami in the day, right? I mean, I know she's a tough dame, but even the strongest of us--

"Yeah. Let's go now," she decides with a nod and i_elbows/i_ me into the car. Pushy dame. Don't know why I was concerned with her in the first place. She doesn't seem to care about the various reasons that I cannot go to a mob house in the dark, either.

Regardless, we drive over there, with Nami directing me down the darkest streets, sullen figures seen by trashcans, a blonde with a cigarette, shadows flicker quicksilver over graffiti covered walls... I look at her, as if wondering if she wants to go back. Out of consideration, y'know? But she directs me down another, darker side street.

"We're almost there," she tells me.

"Then we're parking here." I stop the car and get out, patting its still-warm hood. "If anything happens, I don't want to get my car hurt." I lean down to the hood. "Be good, Merry."

Nami snorts. "I still don't see why you're so attatched to that bucket of bolts." She takes a packet of bubble gum out of her pocket - since when did miniskirts have pockets? - and pops one into her mouth. So we walk to the Franky house.

I can hear footsteps while we go there, and it takes me a second to realize that they're my own.

i_Pop!/i_

It's strange, the street at night, sort of ominous. But I know I can take it. I am the Great Usopp after all.

i_Pop!/i_

I have gone through dangers that many men have not even dreamed of!

i_Pop!/i_

...and somebody is ruining my inspirational soliloquy. No, that's not the word. Uh. Internal monologue! Yeah, that's the one. Anyways, that's not the point. She's still ruining it. "Nami," I tell her, "stop popping that gum!"

"Got it, Boss," she says, easily, and points to the house in front of us. Franky house. We knock, and wait. And of course, I'm not afraid, because--

...i_Pop!/i_

When I turn to her in intense irritation, we have the luck of the door being opened. Now, let's get this clear. Big, happy mob. Small. You figure that the boss is small? That he's weak? Think again. When I turned to Nami, as I said, in intense irritation and was ready to slap her, or scrape chalkboard in her presence, I soon find myself being lifted into the air by the collar of my shirt.

"Hey Long-Nose," the voice booms behind me. "Are you bugging Little Missy right here?"

"Oh God no. We get along really well. Like siblings." I kick my legs a little, but he doesn't seem concerned. And Nami? Nami seems to be hiding a smile behind her hand.

...i_Pop./i_

I wonder why I keep her around. I really do. "He can't actually hurt me," Nami says to the giant behind me, who I'm twisting around to try and get a closer look at. "You can put him down."

So he puts me down, and this is when I actually see him. Tall. Muscular. Wearing sunglasses at night. And a speedo. Nami, though? She seems totally unconcerned. "We're here to talk about Brooke," she says.

"Bones?" Franky repeats, raising a brow. "All right, Little Missy, if you wanna talk, we'll talk. C'mon in."

While we walk through Franky house, I see all sorts. Tall dames with square noses. Small men with beady eyes. But Franky keeps on walking, not even looking behind him, which reminds me that we're in his territory and that if things go bad, they go badder than expired milk. And that's pretty bad.

So we sit. "What do you want to know?"

"U-uh. We were wondering if you knew anything about Brooke's death."

He raises a brow, splays out his hairy legs. "Yeah? I dunno anything about it."

...Wait. So we came out all this way, to get an i_I dunno_?/i But Nami doesn't seem surprised, nor does she seem discouraged.

"We recently received some information telling us that Brooke was involved in conflict with Lucci's gang. We think that might have something to do with it," she says, seeming to show off her superior skills of the art of conversation. I'm a great man. I don't need conversation. "Can you tell us anything about that?"

"Lucci..." Franky frowns. He doesn't like the guy one bit, I can see. Well we're in the same boat. I don't either. "Yeah," he says. "I know something."

...He's not saying anything more, so I prompt him as he sits there, rubbing his three-pronged chin and tapping his metal looking nose. "What do you know?"

"Not Brooke, mostly. Everybody gets along with Brooke. His chef, Sanji." Franky yawns, looking bored of us. "Flirted with the girl of the mob, Kalifa. They didn't like it, and a bit of a... conflict started up." He laughs, as if this is funny. "The cook's an idiot when it comes to women, but he makes good food. He should still be at Brooke's place. Talk to him there." Then, as we're getting up, he quietly remarks, "Although Brooke i_did/i_ ask to see her panties..."

We're walking out the door when Franky says, "Hey Little Missy, is that all you need, or d'you need a place to stay?"

"Nah, I'm fine, Franky. Thanks a bunch." She grins at him, and we're out the door.

And we walk back to my loyal steed--err, car. "D'you know Franky?"

"Yeah," she says, nodding. "From when I worked with Arlong. Franky never liked the shark either." She yawns, cupping her hand over her mouth. "Drop me off at home, Usopp?"

"Uh... Yeah, all right."

Our drive home is silent until we reach Nami's apartment. That is...

i_Pop!/i_

...Arghhhhhhhh.

The next morning, I don't get straight to investigating. I mean, technically, I'm supposed to be investigating, but even a detective needs to sleep in, y'know? Even a _Great Detective_. But sleeping in is an impossibility for me. Because last night, at that late time Nami and I managed to get back home, I got a call throwing paperwork on me. The dreaded monster of paperwork, the black printed letters as condemning as steel cuffs, the paper thin and deadly with its paper cuts, and--

and right while I'm in the middle of staring at the paperwork, Nami bursts through the door like she owns the place. "Usopp!" She says, slamming a hand down on my paperwork, as if she's able to conquer the beast with only a glare.

"I was working on that!" I protest, but she ignores me, sits on my desk, crosses mile-long legs and clicks her high heeled shoes together. Like she's in the world of Oz waiting to get back home so she swindle poor old Auntie Em by charging her for every chore.

"Yeah, yeah," she says, holding a sheet up and eyeing it. "You were not. You were doodling pictures of the Great Detective Usopp. Anyways." She grins, tilts her head back so she's lookin' at me upside down, that red red hair of hers dangling in the air. "We got our lead. Mr. Sanji, still down at Brooke's. Let's go check it out, shall we?"

I grumble. "I have work to do." I don't want to get stuck in a place like the Franky House again. "Can't we wait till after lunch?"

"Ah-ah-ah-ah-_ahhh_," she cackles, obviously happy with herself and wags a finger in my face. "That's exactly what we don't want to do. He's a cook. Why pay for a meal when you can get one for free?"

"And how d'you expect to do that?"

She winks. "With my womanly wiles, detective." She purses lips painted redder than the blood that's sure to come flowing outta me after this case is over and down with, flutters long lashes, sidles out the door and stands in the doorway, a brilliant sillhouette.

... a free meal. Oh, why the hell not, I think to myself, and walk down to the car with her. She directs me down to the west side of town--and that means it's all fancy. All expensive. The people's walks look expensive, the people's talks look expensive, hell, the hookers with diamond earrings and long cigarettes and black coats look expensive. Anyways, we get to one of the most expensive places of all, and after introducing ourself to the guard, get let inside.

"Psst," Nami nudges me as we step down marble. "That guard isn't Roronoa Zoro, is it?"

When I look at him, I remember that Zoro's one of our suspects, and I shake my head. I do my research. "He's got green hair." ...Well, enough research to identify him. I mean, how many people have _green hair_? "No."

"I wonder where he is?"

"In hiding?"

Nami sucks on the side of her cheek, tilting her head in thought. "I dunno. We'll figure that out."

Well, eventually we get down to the kitchen, all squeaky-clean tiles and well equipped shelves, and basically everything my kitchen doesn't have. And lacking a couple of things my kitchen _does_ have. There's nothing wrong with canned beans.

So the cook, some blond guy with an eyebrow as curly as my hair saunters my way, lighting a cigarette while he's at it. Which, I think, is terribly unhygenic for a cook. Just a thought. He looks me in the eye, and slouches backwards, blows smoke in my face. "Whaddaya want?" He asks, sounding as if his employer didn't, you know. Kick the can. Bucket. Whatever it is.

"Ah--well, I'm, uh... the Great Detective Usopp! And I am here to investigate your employer's death!"

"Uh huh." He looks unimpressed, at best. Like a flatfaced judge of table tennis. As bored as a kid doin' maths. You know the type. "And why should I answer you?"

"Well--" I begin, but you can guess who interrupts me. Who _always_ interrupts me.

"On official business," Nami says, stepping in front of me, her high heels sliding on the clean tiles in an alarming fashion, thrusting her chest out for all that she's worth. "You understand, don't you, ah... Mr. Sanji, was it?"

Sickening. Disgusting. A blatant display of sexuality. Womanly wiles. All that shit. It's so obvious, it--

...will obviously work? Because right then and there, the chef clasps his hands underneath his chin and _giggles_ in his glee. Giggles. The grown man. This is going to be a piece of cake.

"Of course I'll do anything to help a lady," he says, bobbing his head like some sort of pidgeon. I've known guys like this before. Like cats, solitary and sleek, deadly hunters, attacking with precision until confronted with catnip. And Nami, putting a coy finger underneath his chin, is the catnip. Times like this, I'm lucky to have a conniving dame working with me.

"...because a lovely lady shouldn't sit," I hear him saying, having not paid attention to his pleas of everlasting love. "Come right this way." Folding a napkin over a gallant arm, he looks more waiter than foul mouth cook. When Nami sidles ahead of him, he turns to me, expression darkening. "You coming or not, shithead?"

Nice. Real polite guy, this one. Anyways, as he's directing us to a seat, Nami inhales real deep, and I think I know what she's thinking. "Wow," she says. "Something smells really good, doesn't it, Usopp?" That's right. I almost forgot about the free lunch. "Boy," she continues as Sanji stops to watch her. "I'm starved." She bumps me with her hip. "We should go out for some lunch after this."

Hook, line and sinker, the cook's caught. "Why, Miss Nami, I'd be more than happy to make you a meal fitting of a lady as beautiful as you," he coos. I give Nami the most pitiful look I can manage, and she sighs.

"But I simply couldn't. Especially not when the boss is going hungry."

"If you want me to, I will cook for all of you." He smiles, and holds out a chair for her to sit in, so that we're perched at a small table in the corner of the kitchen. "I apologize for the small table. If you'd like to use the dining room instead..."

"No, no, Mr. Sanji--"

"Just Sanji's fine."

"--Sanji, we couldn't impose on you." One demure tilt of the head, and Sanji's already twirling back to the kitchen. She leans forward, her entire demeanor changing as she tweaks my nose. "Easy. Can _you_ do that, Boss?"

"Devious woman."

She pops her gum, and tucks it in a napkin. "Yeah, yeah... ooh. That looks good."

So we talk to the chef over the best damn food I've ever eaten. I mean, while my mother was still around, her cooking was great, but _wow_, this grub is to humans what catnip is to cats. "So, Brooke. We were wondering what you knew of his death."

He raises a brow. "Brooke? He just hasn't come home yet. He's not dead."

That's the second person who's claimed that, and things are starting to look a little fishy. "You don't know of your own employer's death?" I ask, slamming a hand on the table and spilling a bit of soup in the process. Oops. "Isn't that a little too convenient?"

"What he means to say, Sanji," Nami purrs, interrupting me like the impertinent woman she is, "is that we want to know more about Brooke. Like..." She twirls a strand of hair around her finger. "...how he was connected with Lucci's gang."

"Oh, that." Sanji frowns, and takes another puff of his cigarette, all seriousness besides the occasional goo-goo eyes at Nami. "He played for 'em. Music. But those shitheads got angry when I paid the lady Kalifa proper respects. Then Brooke asked to see her panties, and then a fight started up, and that was the end of that." He tilts his head back and lifts a hand up, like his tryin' to reach out to something up there but can't quite get it. "They had a quarrel with the doctor's assistant - the beautiful Robin - and Brooke wanted to stop that right in the bud, and we did, but..." He leans forward, shrugs. "They're still fightin' now."

"What type of trouble?" Nami asks, between bites.

Sanji's smile is grim. "If it was my trouble, I'd tell you, Miss Nami, but only Robin can tell you that. She's safe with Doctor Chopper now, though."

So that's it. Lucci's mob has to have murdered Brooke. But to investigate this further, it means we'll actually have to talk to them. Maybe we should call the entire thing off. That's probably smart. Brooke's already dead, no point in us stickin' our necks out for a dead guy.

"You know we're going next, don't you?" Nami asks, and I can feel my stomach drop with dread already. Because once this dame sets her mind on something, she never lets go.

"Home?" I suggest.

"Lucci's." It was worth a try, it really was.

Sanji stands and clears the plates. "Miss Nami, that's very dangerous. Would you like me to...escort you?"

"That won't be necessary," Nami says, but by the look in the cook's eye, it looks like he's gonna be following us like a hound trackin' a deer anyways.

"Thank you for the meal, Sanji. It was wonderful," Nami says, the picture of sweetness, and grabs onto my elbow and drags me out the door.

"We can't go in there on a full stomach!"

Nami disagrees, and sometimes, a crossed dame is scarier than the two mobs combined.

It takes a while to figure out where Lucci's house _is_ exactly, but when it comes to information digging, Nami's the best source to go to, so by the time the the clock strikes 7 'o clock, we know where to go.

"Don't give me any of that full stomach bullshit. Or about how cops should come. Or about how we should leave it alone. Or--"

"I-I get it, Nami," I reply my hands gripping onto the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are turning the same colour of my face... that is, white. As it turns out, their base is about as subtle as Nami is generous. That is to say, not at all. It's a mansion. Literally, a mansion, about as big as Brooke's.

Now, I am generally quite fierce and fearless, but something like this has me scared. Just a little bit.

"Your knees are knocking," Nami observes before getting out of the car and pulling me out. I look at her, waiting for her to take the first step - she was the one who wanted to come here without a good night's sleep to think about it! - but she pushes me ahead of her.

"Wasn't this your idea?"

"Yes, but I'm a cute girl. I'll be kidnapped. You're the big strong man, aren't you, Detective Usopp?"

"Nope. You're definitely stronger than me. Manlier, too." ...Well, when things get desperate, one must take desperate measures.

A bruise on the top of my head tells me that yes, she is definitely stronger than I am.

"So, Usopp," she briefs me as we make our leisurely way up the stone path, "they call it Lucci's mob because he's the strongest, but he's not the leader."

"Why isn't the strongest guy the leader?"

"I don't know," Nami says, shrugging. "Anyways, a guy named Spandam is the leader of the place, Lucci's the strongest, and we've gotta worry about the other members."

"So in other words, this is suicide?"

"Nope," Nami says, with a smile and a tap to her nose. "They'll spare me 'cause I'm a pretty woman."

"Right."

"But not you, 'cause—"

"I get it, Nami." She grins at me in response, bravado hidin' what I'm sure is fear underneath. In fact, I'm positive that behind that smile, she's more scared than a cat up a tree. Bad example. Cats up trees usually aren't that scared. I know that 'cause when I tried to save one once, it scratched me instead of thanking me. Rude creatures.

…actually, that does fit Nami real well. But I'm getting' more off topic than a kid with A.D.D. trying to give a lecture on genes. Yeah, yeah, that was in bad taste, but what can I say? I'm a gritty man, after all. I'm getting off topic again.

Long story short, we get to the door, knock on it, and some guy just looks at us as if he's been expecting us all along and tells us to come in. I look to Nami to see if she recognizes him, but she simply smiles blankly. Must be some new guy. We're led into a sitting room, and the chairs are squishy and the fire's warm, but all I can think about is our imminent doom. We're left there until a woman sidles over, and smiles.

Now, you know how I described Robin as being a beautiful woman? Yeah, this dame's a pretty one too, but not nearly as pretty as the doctor's assistant. The only difference is… skin. Yeah. A lot of skin. Nami elbows me, and mutters, "Get your jaw off the floor, Usopp, and work with me."

"My jaw was not on the floor," I mutter back to her, indignant, but she sighs her world-weary sigh that suggests that we're all idiots.

"We were looking for the owner of this residence," Nami says, all professional-like, "to ask about the musician Brooke's death." She smiles sweetly, then, and looks about as innocent as a thief. "We heard that he played here last, so we just wanted to know if you thought he was acting weird."

"Ah, but Miss Nami," the woman says, as coy as my assistant, "the last place Sir Brooke played was a club down fourth street. Maybe you'd be better off checking there."

"Yes, let's check there," I agree with her. What? The woman's got sense!

Nami's smile turns steely. "No, we'd like to investigate here anyways. This is a big place, and surely you nice people know something," she purrs.

Kalifa stands, two long, long legs and heels clicking on marble floors, a shock of long blonde hair, a—"Usopp, pick up your jaw."

"Yes ma'am."

Anyways. All those physical features, yeah. She says to us, "I'll go get somebody to help you, then," and walks away. The tension's so thick, you could cut it with a piece of paper. We dunno if they're gonna try to lead us to someone else… or worse. I look at Nami to tell her that maybe we should be escaping right about now, when her face turns slack jawed and wide eyed. "Oh my _God_," she murmurs, "Usopp, he's got your nose."

When I turn, I see a square face attached to a square nose – which I don't have, thank you very much, Nami! – and he cracks his square knuckles and grins with square teeth, and edgily, says, "You are detective Usopp?" and…

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit, we're going to die here. He's coming right at us when a flash of black and blonde flies in front of us and blocks the square-face off. I think my heart's beatin' a million miles a minute.

"Sanji!" Nami exclaims. "You followed us?"

In response, the cook looks at me, and says, "You gotta learn how to protect a lady, shithead," and then looks at square head. Looks like he's still planning to fight with a cig in his mouth. Now, any other time, I'd tell him that that's stupid, but he is right on the count that we need to get out of here, so I grab onto Nami's arm and run the hell away.

In the distance, we can hear, "Fuck! You…i_burned my nose_?/i" …Maybe there is some virtue to fighting with a cigarette in mouth. Anyways, when we run to the door, we see three, four guards there, and there's no way to get through these powerhouses, so me and Nami, we decide to find a back exit. Through the winding halls, though, another guy reaches out for us with a wolf like grin, and there's no Sanji to save us.

"Nami!" I yell at her, "get outta the way!" And I'm about to fling one of my many projectiles at him when Franky comes runnin' outta nowhere, flanked by his lackeys. He glances at Nami and says, "I'll take care'a this punk, Little Missy. You go do what you have to do."

Well, needless to say, we get outta there as fast as we possibly can. But when I look at Nami to ask her if she has any idea as to where the exit is, she shakes her head, her mouth a grim line. "No, Usopp, we gotta solve this. Something's happening here, and it's connected to Brooke." Which is completely stupid.

"Brooke's dead! Us dying won't do anything to—"

"I'm not sure if he's really dead, Usopp." She frowns, grabs my elbow. "Come on."

The place is like one of those mazes you put mice through and wait for them to get the cheese at the end. Except I'm startin' to think that it'll be a mousetrap waiting for us instead. We keep on running, because hey, what else can we do? I'm a great detective, not a superhuman warrior, even if I did manage to vanquish the evil tribe of Bedlam and… never mind.

But then two very strange looking men stand there and look at us, one with pink hair and one with… very little hair, and when they charge, I'm pretty sure we're doomed. My father, Yasopp, was a master of the gun (or so I heard). I, the Great Usopp… have a slingshot from when I was a kid. I mean, I can shoot a gun pretty well, but I generally don't carry 'em around, 'cause as I've figured out from my last case, if you carry around a loaded gun, it's easy for the enemy to shoot it right back atcha. And that results in pain. Terrible, terrible pain. So I take out my slingshot, and fling one of my devices at them—basically a water balloon. Except with gasoline. More durable, though, and… it's sort of hard to explain. And a bit embarrassing. No Great Warriors I know fight with slingshots.

But it's hard to feel _that_ embarrassed when you throw a match on 'em and the pink haired guy's long hair catches on fire, and the other guy screams in shock. This does not have the desired effect, though, as _two men on fire start to charge at us_. Jesus Christ.

I'm about to think I'm gonna die when a hand jerks us out of the way from behind, and we turn around to see Nico Robin, an astutely distressed look on her face. It's one of the only flickers of emotion I've ever seen from the dame, and it makes me real sad, actually, seeing her so destitute.

"Detective," she acknowledges me, and reaches out for the doctor.

The doctor speaks, in a tiny voice not fitting his massive frame, says, "It's okay, Robin," and touches her hand. Then, he turns to us, and tells us, sternly, "Go find my patient." Then, they launch into battle, and…

And we run again. By this time, I'm starting to feel pretty cowardly, but Nami is pulling at me, and is insisting that we're going to figure this out, we're gonna get to the bottom of this, and it'll only be a matter of time. And she pops her bubble gum. We run past a corridor when Nami screeches to a halt.

"Usopp! Look!" I look at where her finger's pointin', and there's a grand ol' treasure chest.

"This isn't the time for money!" I yell back at her, but she shakes her head vigorously.

"Get it down for me, Usopp!"

Now, it's real high up, see? I'm not a short guy, but I'd have to have a stature like Franky's to be able to reach that. But then again… I level up the place. The walls are a bit crumbly, here, and there's only a thin, thin rod to hold it in support. Only a genius sharpshooter would be able to hit that, though, and I stare at it dubiously before taking out my slingshot. It's worth a try, right?

Sure enough, as I draw the rubber band back, biting my lip in concentration, I fling a projectile at it, and the entire shelf falls. Bingo!

"Yes! Good job, Boss!" Nami says, and runs to the treasure chest, takes a… lock pick out of her bra and starts to work on it?

Do I want to know why Nami has that on her? One glance from those demon-eyes, and I find out that no, I don't want to know. I really don't want to know. Then, she opens the chest, real slow, and her eyes open real wide and she stumbles away. So I, the Great Detective Usopp, have to peer in to see what's so frightening. I can't see too well in the dark – and I guess Nami can; that dame's like a cat – and I lift something out. I hold it up to the light. It's hard, and smooth, and…

…and a skull.

"Holy…" When I look back down into the chest, it becomes apparent that yes, there is an i_entire skeleton/i_ in there.

I don't have much time to panic, though, as a glint of metal flickers and I see what are truly demon eyes. You know how I said Nami had demon eyes? They're nothing compared to these. Broad shouldered, narrow eyed, grim faced and holding a very, very sharp sword is none other than Roronoa Zoro. Coming at me.

"Give that back!" He roars at me, and I do the only thing I can: run. As fast as I can. When I turn my head desperately behind me, he's still charging in my direction, and when I turn my head to the right, Nami's right beside me, panting in exertion.

"What… what's his problem?" She squeals, lookin' all for the world like a guy's just stepped on her tail.

"I don't know!" I reply. "Just keep running!" So we take a left, then a right, then down some stairs, then right again, then right again, then left, and hiding in a corner, we see Zoro charge past, and screech to a halt.

He scratches his head. "Where did they go?" He crosses his arms, frowns. "Damn…"

Is this it? Is Brooke's own bodyguard in cahoots with Lucci's gang? What an interesting turn of events! It would be a lot more interesting, though, I would have thought, if a massive man didn't make himself clear to us at that moment, a passive face and a pigeon on his shoulder.

"Lucci," Nami gasps.

And this is when I scream. I can't help it, y'know? We're not built to take on this sort of punishment. Thankfully (and I can't believe I'm saying this), this gets the attention of none other than the bodyguard who had just been trying to kill us.

Lucci plucks the skull from my hands, is about the crush it, and Zoro charges and jams his elbow into the man's stomach, making him drop the skull, right into my hands.

Zoro turns to us, narrow eyed, and growls in a voice that suggests he's gonna kill us, "Take that and run."

Within the second, we're gone. He didn't need to say it twice. I look at Nami, still holding the skull, ask her for answers. She shrugs, helplessly.

"I don't know what's going on, Us—"

She isn't able to finish her sentence, though, as a roar of pain that comes from the demon's mouth reaches our ears, and Monkey D. Luffy runs up to us.

"Did you see Zoro?" He pants, looking as if he's just run a marathon.

Nami points in Zoro's direction, and Luffy nods. "Okay. I think there's two people fighting him instead of just Lucci now." He points at the skull. "Take care of him." Then, he's gone, his face more grim than I've ever seen it.

Taking a deep breath, I voice what's running through both of our heads. "What the hell is going on here?"

"Those were all of our suspects," Nami says suddenly, and I realize that it's true. Roronoa Zoro, Sanji, Franky, Nico Robin, Dr. Chopper, Monkey D. Luffy...

So who did it? Who killed Brooke? And why the hell am I still carrying this skull?

Then, there it is. A door, with sunlight streaming through. We can leave now, leave and forget that this has ever happened, and label the death of the musician as an incomplete. A mystery. One that will never be solved.

"Nami." I point to the door, and she nods, agreeing with me. For once. Then, as we're walking towards it, a man appears, a mask on his face and manic eyes boring into us.

"Spandam," Nami says, wonderingly. The master of this place.

He grins a demonic grin and cackles with laughter. "You've found him!" The guy crows, and steps towards us.

We've got two choices, and we know it. We can either run out the door, and stay here and face Spandam, figure out what's happening once and for all, like a Great Detective should. But I don't know which I should do. After all, if I abandon this case, it's just an unsolved case, right? Nobody will _die_.

But somethin', somethin' is telling me that I have to stay and fight, even if my knees knocking together are creating a rythm. "Spandam!" I yell, and point at them.

...Okay. Okay, now what? And this, this is the final battle of the Great Captain Usopp, and Spandam hits and hollers and I throw things, and Nami hits him with a stick she's found, and by the end of it, we're not strong enough, not really. We should have realized that from the beginning. Spandam's not as strong as Lucci, maybe, but he's still plenty strong, and standing over Nami and I, and I don't know what to do. My nose is bleeding and I think I broke my ankle. And my wrist. And my heart. My heart is beatin' so hard I'm pretty sure it'll go into overdrive and I'll have a heart attack, and this will be the end of the Great Captain Usopp!

Nami isn't looking too good either.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah. So Nami and I, we put up a good fight, and Spandam looks pretty tired, but he's standing over us, and in the end, he's stronger, and we think we're done for, yeah? Yeah. But then the craziest thing happens right before our eyes.

A skeletal hand crawls its way up Spandam's back and taps his shoulder. When the guy turns around, the hand waves at him cheerily while another hand on the ground squirms its way around a sword and i_throws/i_ it into Spandam.

And just like that, Spandam's keeled over in pain, and we're finished.

"Yohohoho! My thanks!" The skull yodels.

I drop it. What? You'd drop the thing if it spoke to you too. Trembling, I look to Nami, who shrugs and links her arm in mine. "L-lets go outside and wait for the others, Boss," she says, and we do, staring at the skull as it laughs and yodels and giggles and seems to be going nuts. Insane. Crazy. You know what I mean.

They all arrive together, all the suspects in one. And let me tell you, it's a terrifying sight. The only part of Sanji that looks like it isn't bleeding are his hands, and I'm pretty sure that's just because they were stuffed in his pockets the entire time. And Franky, who jumped into the fray fully clothed, is... no longer so. Nico Robin limps towards us, holding the Doctor's hand, and... Shit, I can't even begin to describe how Luffy and Zoro look. They both look like they're dragging the other along.

And all in one swoop, predictably, they slide to the ground in exhaustion. It's quite a sight. But it can't stop here, I know it can't, so I look at them, and ask, "What the hell is going on here?"

That's when the skull says its first comprehensible words. "You can tell them."

This is when the fantastical story unfolds.

"You see," Dr. Chopper says, weariness obvious in his voice as he begins to patch the worse of Luffy's wounds up. "Brooke was suffering from a degenerative disease that meant that all of his muscles would cease to function, ending with his heart. And... well, we couldn't let that happen. I couldn't, as a doctor." Chopper pauses to pick up a skeletal hand and attaches it to an arm. "So I figured out a risky medical experiment, which would actually remove his muscles but still allow him to move. And to do that... well, somebody had to kill him first."

Sanji steps in, then, after fussing a bit at the injured Robin. "So Chopper came to me, because nobody knows more about food than me." He crosses his arms, lookin' real pleased with himself. "And as Brooke's cook, I needed to make a special diet for him, or else Chopper wouldn't have told me."

"We used my house," Luffy chirps, looking more exhausted than I've ever seen the guy.

"Because it's hard to find," Franky says, crossing his arms. "And I had to help the Doctor over there make all the materials he needed."

I gape incredulously at them all as Chopper attaches arms to a torso, and fits the skull onto a neck.

"The only problem with this, besides the risks," Robin cuts in, smoothly, "was Lucci's gang. We've already had some... bad experiences with them, but the main one was Kureha. Doctor Kureha. She had worked for the mob for a period of time, and instead of crediting to her what seemed like medical miracles, Lucci's gang took full credit. Chopper was her apprentice, and so any miracle that he does - and this is certainly a medical miracle - it is possible to be traced back to Lucci's gang. Now, with Brooke's condition, there would be many suffering patients asking for the same, risque treatment, and instead of telling those patients that they could not do it, Lucci's gang preferred disposing of the evidence entirely." She smiles, real slow, real calm, and gestures towards the skeleton being built. "And the evidence in this case is, of course, Brooke himself."

"But who killed Brooke in the first place?" Nami bursts out.

"Me."

None other than the demon Roronoa Zoro speaks out in affirmation, looking strangely passive for a man who's just confessed to killing another man. When I stare at him in horror, he shrugs, and says, "I was the only one who could do it. And Chopper knew what he was doing.

Slowly, my mind makes sense of it, as a voice cries out. "My thanks to everybody! It is rather unpleasant to be taken apart, although I did not die because of it, because I am a skeleton! Yohohoho!"

The... skeleton tilts a top hat at me. "And many thanks to you... Detective Usopp, was it? And his lovely assistant! May I see your panties?"

"No."

A collective sigh ripples from the group, although there's still one thing to address.

"Hey," Zoro says to me. "Aren't you the guy I tried to kill?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Oh," he says.

...Well, I'm not about to push for an apology. He killed his own employer. Who knows what's going on beneath that green head of his.

It's one of those nights.

The smell of gasoline smellier than a pig's underbelly. The grit of the street tangible, digging underneath your nails, into your eyes. Smoke thick as the steam rushing up from a bowl of steamed vegetables. Darker than the eyes of a murderer. Yeah. You know those nights? Of course you do. Everybody in this damn city knows these nights. Hell, the entire city is made up of those nights.

But I'm not scared of any murderers this time, 'cause there's too much chaos going around to be scared. You see, after the whole ordeal with Lucci's gang, Brooke offered a room in his mansion for me to set up office in, so I did just that, and so it's here that I ride the Going Merry (which is running quite nicely now, thanks to Franky) to every day, Nami at my side.

And by too much goin' on to be scared, I mean it's too loud. Brooke's playing the violin and singin', and Franky's accompanying him with an out of tune guitar, and the girls are sitting there drinking coffee, and Sanji and Zoro are fighting, but for once in my life, something just feels right. I could get used to this.

Remember how I said that us Detectives don't save lives--we just investigate dead ones? Well, I think I've proved them all wrong.

I prop my feet on my desk and watch the chaos around me when Nami saunters up to my desk, all sweet-like, and sits on it. She gives me a peck on the cheek - yow! - and drops a packet of bubble gum on my desk, pops her own, and winks at me. "You deserve it, boss."

Now, now I can say the words I've been waiting for a long time to say.

This is the Great Detective Usopp speaking to tell you this.

Case. Closed.


End file.
